Ballast
by kawherp
Summary: Steve has decided he is no longer willing to sit on the sidelines and let Megan tell their story. These chapters are stand-alone companions to Roots and Anchors told from Steve's point of view.
1. Waiting for Their Arrival

This chapter is set after Chapter 63, Snuggle Time, in Roots and Anchors

* * *

The late afternoon sun streamed through the window as he sat at his easel and paused to look around his apartment. It didn't feel like a home to him and yet he knew he needed this time to ground himself. Megan was right, as she often was, that he had something to prove. Usually, he was trying to prove himself to others. For once, he was trying to prove his worth to a much harsher critic: himself.

The kitchen timer went off and he stripped off his gloves and went to check on the rice. It was finally done, so he moved the pan to the oven, already set on low, so the rice could keep the steamed vegetables company. The salad was in the fridge and the crock pot would keep the chicken and gravy hot. He didn't know exactly when Kathy and Greg would arrive and the D.C. traffic at this time of day only added to the uncertainty. For now, there was nothing more for him to do to prepare his home for guests. Megan had already sent a text that she was stuck in a meeting and would be late arriving. She urged them to start dinner without her.

He'd spent two days cleaning a bit obsessively. It kept his hands occupied while his mind raced. And if he happened to 'accidentally' damage some of the bugs that had been placed in his apartment, then his observers should have picked someone less fussy about their cleaning habits. He left two of the devices in place to avoid raising suspicion, but they were in the living room. When Megan next stayed over, they could converse quietly or enjoy each other's company without anyone intruding on their most private time together.

Megan. She'd dropped into his life so unexpectedly and only a few months later, she filled every corner of his world with joy and contentment. Her parents had welcomed him into their family and treated him like their own son. He'd forgotten how good it felt to have someone care about the little things in his life.

His mother had fretted over providing clothes and food as any caring parent would. But more than that, she'd cared about his thoughts and feelings. Was he frustrated by his homework? Was he excited by a drawing he'd made? She took the time to find out. Sarah had wiped his tears, celebrated his victories, and counseled him wisely as he found his own solutions to life's problems. Then she'd been gone.

Bucky had filled the void as best he could, but Steve missed his mother deeply. He missed the opportunity to know his father. Kathy and Greg were filling that need without taking his parents' place. He'd never expected to have anyone looking out for him in that way again. Having two people doing so was a blessing he had never dared dream of.

When they had gone fishing at his pond, Greg had confided he'd already lost both of his parents then added it was hard knowing you were the next in line in the natural order of things. It felt strange to Greg to see young children on the street and know that he wouldn't be around when they were old. Then he'd switched to the topic of the best bait for catching bass.

Greg was a master at touching on serious topics just enough to open a door, then moving on without making the transition feel at all awkward. The stories he'd told at Steve's bedside had been a lifeline he'd clung to when the pain had threatened to consume him. He could only imagine what it would have been like to grow up with someone like Greg in the house to counterbalance Sarah's doting, but Greg gave him enough of a taste that he thought it would be wonderful.

Kathy, like her daughter, was a force of nature who bent the universe to her will. There was no such thing as an insurmountable problem. Instead, life presented challenges that would somehow be overcome, most often with food, hugs, and a determination to manufacture solutions out of whatever materials were available. It took a strong woman to support her daughter's courtship of a man like himself. Kathy seemed to be fully aware of the challenges that came with his role as an Avenger yet was largely unbothered by them. Instead, she had taken to sending him amusing emails, calling him to suggest a new recipe she'd found, and even chiding him when she thought he was pushing himself too hard. She wasn't Sarah, but she was a welcome surrogate. Steve knew that his mother would have liked Megan's parents a lot and been pleased to know they were in Steve's life.

His apartment wasn't fancy, but it felt good to be able to offer the space to Megan's parents. They'd done so much for him in such a short period of time. And for a few days, at least, they'd make his empty apartment feel like a home. There would be life and laugher in these walls. He wouldn't have to resort to a record player to fill the silence.

With a sigh, he began to pick up his mess. He closed the case in which he kept his pastels but left it on the table by the easel. There was no need to hide them from prying eyes. The reference clippings that were scattered on the coffee table went back into their folder. The samples of fabric and lace were folded and placed in a manila envelope. He turned off the air purifier he kept running to collect any dust when he worked with the soft pastels. A youth spent struggling to breathe made him careful with his lungs. He knew the serum would probably protect him, but using a simple dust mask and air purifier seemed like reasonable precautions, especially now that he'd had a reminder of how vulnerable he was to suffering permanent harm. The serum didn't excuse him from using a bit of common sense.

He folded the chef's apron he used to keep pastel dust off of his clothes and put it in the closet where it belonged, lying on top of the folder and envelope he didn't want Megan to see. On top, he placed the sketch pad he had filled with drawings of her face in different settings and with different expressions. There were some things he didn't want to share with her just yet.

The pastel board he'd been working on got covered with a protective sheet of glassine paper and slid gently onto the top shelf of the closet, too. In its place, he set a still life he'd started during his latest lesson. Somehow, he'd managed to fit three sessions in with his internet instructor before his eyes had been burned. It had been enough for him to fall in love with the medium. Given his enthusiasm, if he didn't have something in progress on the easel, Megan would be suspicious. She had no idea that he'd decided to paint her for a wedding gift. She'd moved the timetable up on him, so it was a good thing he'd gotten started already. And though his right hand was still healing, he was able to work on the background using his left. He'd have to work hard to master all of the needed techniques in time, but with some help from Jarvis, surely he'd find a way.

Steve smiled to himself as he imagined her reaction to seeing the finished product. With any luck, maybe someday they'd find a gorgeous horse that Megan could ride on a beach as the sunset made the sky glow around her. She'd be laughing as Steve watched her ride, one hand fisted in the thick mane of her mount, the other resting lightly on her leg, ready to offer a gentle pat to the muscular neck and shoulder of the horse that carried her swiftly across the packed sand at the ocean's edge.

He'd become fascinated with capturing the movements of a horse as he attended her lessons. Even Pumpkin, draft horse that she was, moved her bulk with grace as she trotted around the ring. Youtube videos had shown him light-footed Arabians, with their beautifully shaped heads, floating over the earth at a full gallop.

He was drawn out of his musings by a knock at the door. His family was here.


	2. Breaking the News

This chapter is set after Family Dinner (chap 66) in Roots and Anchors. Steve insisted I write it down and share it with you. As before, it can be read as a stand alone, but will make a lot more sense if you read it alongside R&A.

* * *

"I think you really managed to surprise her," Greg said, chuckling as they watched Megan drive away.

Steve smiled. "I agree. Ray will be pleased to hear it."

"Isn't a car a rather expensive gift between friends?" Kathy asked, trying not to press while expressing her concern.

He nodded. "Special circumstances I'm not at liberty to disclose. But it's not a hardship for him." Steve shrugged, not trying to hide his frustration. "I wish I could explain it better."

"It's okay, Steve. We trust your judgment. You can't break a confidence for our curiosity," Kathy reassured him.

"I don't like keeping secrets, but that one isn't mine to decide. There's another one I need to tell you about, though, and I can't talk about it at the apartment given the bugs. I was thinking we could drive up to the park and sit down at a picnic table so we're not overheard."

"Okay." Kathy said, wariness in her voice. She shared a look with Greg that Steve knew communicated paragraphs.

Steve smiled grimly. "It's about the past, so there's no sense fretting over it now. Let me deal with these two ladies and we'll be on our way.

Kathy nodded and took Greg's hand while they watched Steve scold the two women who had interrupted dinner. When that unpleasant task was done, he led Megan's parents to where Megan had parked his car. All of the joy and levity from dinner was gone. He could feel the tension increasing with every step they took. But he wasn't going to have this conversation while they drove. This deserved a sit-down, face-to-face discussion where he could ensure they were alone and had a chance to ask questions. He hated having to tell them, but they needed to know.

* * *

Steve scanned the area, looking for any signs of hidden photographers or overly interested joggers. The sultry heat of the day had eased a bit and there was a pleasant breeze. He chose a picnic table in the shade, not far from the trails and parking lot and led them to it. He waited until Greg and Kathy were seated across from him, and looked down at his hands, girding himself before he met Kathy's worried eyes.

"There's no easy way to tell you this, but I recently discovered that Randy was abusing Megan up until the day she left him. It's why she broke it off."

They stared at him in shock.

"How?" Kathy finally whispered as she gripped Greg's hand more tightly.

"I don't know all the details. She won't talk about it. I only figured it out when I was cuddling with her and accidentally triggered a flashback. She broke my nose, bruised my ribs, and armed herself with kitchen knives before I could pull her back to the present. That's when I figured out he'd raped her. She left him the next day. But things started making more sense after that. He was verbally and emotionally abusing her, too, and she didn't even realize it. Randy made a huge mistake raping her if he thought it was going to break her. He crossed a line even she couldn't explain away as part of the stress of graduate school. Even so, the damage he did runs deep."

"It's a lot to take in," Greg finally said. "I wish we'd realized. Surely we could have found a way to help her get out before it got as bad as it did."

Steve nodded, recognizing the sentiment. "I'm probably the last person to tell you not to beat yourself up over it. Bucky always said I took personal responsibility for the sun coming up in the morning. Can't say he was far off the mark." He smiled slightly at the memory. "It happened. It's done. What matters now is helping her deal with it. She refuses to talk about it. I didn't give her much of a choice about informing you, but she made it clear she doesn't want to discuss it with anyone."

"It explains so much," Kathy whispered, obviously seeing past events in new light.

"I'm sure it does. I've noticed her self-confidence isn't anywhere near what it should be for a woman as smart, strong, and accomplished as she is. Randy got inside her head and dismantled her piece by piece. It's going to take time for her to trust herself again, much less anyone else."

"I suppose it's too late for her to file charges. It would amount to her word against his," Kathy mused.

"Do you really want to put your daughter through a criminal trial?" Steve replied. "I've read up on how rape is handled these days, and it seems to me that the victims end up on trial, too. Fortunately, we have other options. Clint and Natasha are looking into Randy to see if he had anything to do with the knife attack back in May. Natasha… her upbringing was brutal, based on what I know, and I don't even know a tenth of it. She's taken Megan under her wing, far beyond just helping me teach Megan how to defend herself. If anyone can help Megan come to terms with what happened, it's Natasha. She's survived far worse herself."

Steve took a deep breath and continued, "Natasha told Megan to put him out of her mind because he's not worth thinking about. I don't dare look into it, because it would be far too easy to kill him if I ever met him. I trust Natasha to see that justice is served and I'm not going to ask for details. She'll do it on her own timetable, in her own way."

"Do you really think Natasha can help? She's not a counselor."

Steve nodded at Kathy. "Megan isn't ready to talk to anyone yet. She's just now realizing how much damage Randy did. At least with Natasha, she's with someone who understands being used against your will and how that sort of manipulation can mess you up. In time, I think Megan will be more receptive to getting traditional therapy. Whether or not it will help, I can't say." He shrugged, unwilling to delve into his own issues with the suggestion of seeking out counseling. "Right now, I'm focused on helping her find her triggers and desensitizing her to them. Panic attacks and flashbacks aren't much fun and if we can prevent them in the first place, she'll heal faster. Clint's working with her in the firing range so she's competent with a handgun. Natasha and I are teaching her hand-to-hand combat techniques. I imagine Natasha's also teaching her how to assess a target and plan different escapes."

"She said today she was wearing a bulletproof vest," Greg said quietly. "And that she was armed."

Steve nodded again. "I insisted. Being associated with me brings some inherent risks, unfortunately. I don't want her to lose her sense of independence, but we have to be practical, too. After we're married, maybe sooner, she'll have a security team around the clock. Tony and Pepper are going to help us screen candidates in the next few weeks." Steve smiled shyly. "Neither Megan nor I grew up in circles where security teams were standard. We're still trying to figure out how it all works. Even then, it's no guarantee she'll be safe, but she won't have to look over her shoulder every minute she's out in public. And if the worst happens and someone tries to take her, she'll have a fighting chance at getting away unharmed. I want her to feel safe, not smothered. I'm sure we'll get the balance wrong at times, but we'll figure it out together."

Kathy reached out and covered Steve's hands with hers. "I'm so very glad you found each other."

"Me, too," he said, looking down at their hands. "I'm more grateful than you can know that she's willing to take me on given the baggage I bring with me. Life with me isn't going to be easy and I can't change that without giving up part of who I am."

"You can't do that, Steve, not even for her," Greg said, sympathy clear in his eyes.

"I know. I wouldn't mind quitting S.H.I.E.L.D. if she asked. But I know there are times when the Avengers are going to be needed again." He looked down again. "I couldn't live with myself if someone was hurt or killed because I wasn't there with them. I don't mean to brag, but I'm good at what I do. The team needs me. Maybe I'll get to the point where I'm ready to give it up and retire the shield, but I'm not there yet."

"You can't retire for anyone else but yourself, Steve. And even if you did, you'll still be famous and still have enemies," Kathy chided. "And you'd still have to figure out how you want to fill the hours of your life. With everything you've had to adjust to, being Captain America has been a familiar constant. Now isn't the time to give that up. You're not ready."

"I know."

"It's not bragging to recognize your own talents and skills." Greg added. "Those alien worm ship things were scary enough to see on television. The death toll would have been a lot higher of the lot of you hadn't been there to stop them. From what I understand, the team made you the leader from the get-go."

Steve nodded, still staring at Kathy's hands holding his own. "Which is strange, given how Thor's over a thousand years old and an established warrior and leader."

"Maybe you're the better tactician and he knows it," Greg suggested. "If so, give him credit for his wisdom in recognizing that and stepping aside so you can lead as you do so well."

Steve nodded absently and looked around idly at the park. "Most days, I just keep trying to figure out how I ended up here. I never expected to live long enough to get married, much less find a gal who thought I was worth her time. Megan means everything to me and I can't stand to see her hurting like she is. It's been so hard adjusting to everyone I knew being gone, but she's made it easier. I don't wake up each morning dreading the day." He took a deep breath, them remembered something. "She once said that Bucky was my anchor and that I was lost without him. Somehow, Megan became an anchor for me, too. I love her so much, yet half the time she doesn't trust that I mean it."

"I think that's due to the damage Randy did, not anything you've done, Steve." Kathy said gently, kindly ignoring the tears he felt pooling in his eyes.

It felt so good to have Kathy and Greg listen to him like this, it was all he could do not to completely break down right there.

"I think the only answer to that is time and patience, and you've already proven you have the latter and the determination to give her the former." Kathy reached up and brushed the hair from his eyes, just like his mother used to do. "I once thought a long engagement was a good idea, but now I think moving the date up the right thing to do. It will help her believe at a visceral level that you're sticking around."

"The only reason I'd leave is because she asked me to. And even then, I'd do so under protest. I don't know how I'd survive losing her."

"I don't think you have to worry about that. Despite her wounds, she loves you, too. Greg and I both see it. She's happy these days, despite everything. You're good for each other and you both know it. You'll find your way through this."

"I'm glad you told us," Greg said softly. "Even if she doesn't want to talk about it, it's good for her to know she doesn't have to hide the truth. She's tough and smart. She managed to get herself out of a bad situation all by herself. I wish we'd have been able to help her sooner, but what matters is that she got out before it got even worse. We'll respect her request for silence for the time being, but let her know we're proud of her."

"And tell her that if she ever does want to talk, we're happy to listen. We're don't think less of her because of what Randy did." Kathy snorted a bit, then continued, "We need a rotten nickname for him. He doesn't deserve to be called by his given name.

"I'll tell her. She's taken to calling him the Ratbastard," Steve confessed, inwardly wincing that he was using such rough language around Megan's parents.

"Ratbastard, hmm? I rather like the sound of that. How about you, Greg?"

"It's more polite than some of the names I was thinking of. We can always call him R.B. when we have to watch our language around Keith and Christopher."

"Ratbastard it is, then," Kathy said, smiling for the first time since they'd arrived at the park. "It's better than he deserves, but just rotten enough to be satisfying. Give Natasha and Clint our thanks as well, for ensuring the Ratbastard gets what's coming to him."

"I'll do that."

Kathy nodded and stood up. "Now let's lose the dour mood and stop at a bakery on the way home. I'm in the mood to gorge on a decadent pastry of some sort."

"Chocolate fixes everything?" Steve teased as he and Greg stood up, too.

"You'd better believe it, especially when combined with a hot bath and a good night's sleep. Even in the worst case scenario, the complete set ensures you can cope with what you're facing if it truly can't be fixed."

"I can't argue with that," Steve said, pulling her into a hug.

"And you shouldn't even try. We mothers know a few things."

"Replace the chocolate with salty crunchy junk food and I'll agree with you."

"Your failure to appreciate chocolate is one of your few shortcomings, Greg, but one I overlook. Okay, just for you, I'll concede that chocolate may be replaced by the comfort food of choice for those of you with that particular flaw," Kathy said, standing with her hands on her hips as she studied Greg.

"You're as generous as always," Greg teased before kissing her.

Steve just smiled and imagined his own parents bantering with each other in a tiny Brooklyn apartment a lifetime ago. Watching Greg and Kathy gave him happy glimpses of the relationship his parents might have had before Joseph went to war. Rather than making him sad, it somehow made his own parents seem closer. He could almost feel them watching over him now, proudly observing as he and Megan planned their own life together. Kathy and Greg were slowly filling a painful void that he'd managed to nearly forget about until Megan's parents had found a way to ease the hurt. It felt good to be a part of a family again.


	3. Much Ado About Motorcycles

This is Steve's perspective during "Much Ado About Nothing" (chapter 68) in _Roots and Anchors._

* * *

To Steve's delight, it was surprisingly fun to window shop with Megan and her parents. There was no set itinerary, no item they had to find. Rather, it was an excuse to enjoy the evening air and let the conversation meander as aimlessly as their feet. Often, there was more than one conversation going on. They'd start on one shared topic, then Megan or Kathy would spot something and break away, continuing their conversation with whomever stayed close. Steve and Greg trailed along, sometimes chatting with each other, at other times trailing after one of the women. It was a complex dance with no pattern or rules he could discern. The only constant was that they always ended up back together, either admiring a purchase, commenting on something they'd seen, or discussing where to go next.

It felt right.

During one interlude, Steve found himself following Kathy while Megan wandered ahead and Greg stopped to chat with a shopkeeper. "Megan plans to set you up tonight so you ride back to her place with me," he told her softly as he watched her pick up a chunky necklace that had caught her eye.

"Does she now? I'm not surprised." Kathy smiled to herself then laid the necklace back with its neighbors on the display board. "My only question is why you are telling me rather than playing along."

"I don't know how well you respond to being manipulated, even by your daughter."

"You've been on the receiving end once too many times."

Steve nodded, though her reply wasn't a question.

"Since Megan expects your cooperation, how did you plan on foiling her attempt if I said no?" Kathy looped her hand though his arm as they walked. It was nice to be touched with casual affection, especially by someone other than Megan. It made him feel connected to the world in a way he'd feared he'd lost when he first woke up in this strange new world. The social norms had changed during his years in the ice and he never initiated contact, other than the universally acceptable handshake, for fear he'd somehow cause offense.

"One option would be to put you in a cab and follow you back. Another would be to make sure you and Greg end up closer to your car than we are to my bike by the time we're ready to leave. Megan means well, but it's your call."

Kathy nodded and seemed to be satisfied with his answer. "Well, she's not wrong. But motorcycles terrify me, to be honest. She lectured me at length yesterday about why riding with you is extremely safe."

Steve didn't try to hide his grin. "Megan thinks you'll just talk yourself out of it given a chance. It's why she's setting you up."

"Well, you're both right. But I'll play along and let her think she's getting away with something. This can be our secret."

Steve nodded as he shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. "If her jacket doesn't fit you, you can wear mine and put hers in the saddlebag. Her helmet may not fit right, but it will keep you legal. I promise I won't put the bike down while you're on it."

"Why do I need a jacket at all? It's summer."

"Even hitting a bug when on a bike can sting. I'll heal a lot faster than you will if it comes to that. But she's planning on arranging it so you have her jacket before she darts off with Greg and leaves you stranded with me."

"It's a good plan. But I'm glad you gave me the choice." Kathy smiled mischievously and continued, "Of course, I may see what I can do to make it a bit more challenging for her."

"I won't say a word," he promised. Kathy's comment took him back to his days with the Howling Commandos.

"What are you smiling so wistfully about?" she asked, pulling him out of his reverie. "You looked like you were somewhere else."

Steve nodded, though the warmth in his chest didn't fade with his return to the present. "Gabe, Morita, and Bucky had prank wars and often recruited me to help things go smoothly. You and Megan tonight? Just like old times."

"Give me an example."

"Well, there was a period where a lot of pranks revolved around messing with dress uniforms. Some of the top brass got it in their heads that we needed to have a lot of publicity, so there were reporters coming through on a regular basis to photograph us and write article for the papers back home. Naturally, the ones in charge wanted to sell a good story, not tell the truth about what the war was like, so they wanted us all spiffed up in in dress uniforms. They didn't want the Howling Commandos photographed all muddy and tired. One time, Gabe snuck into Bucky's tent about a half hour before we were to report and moved all of his pins to the opposite side of his jacket and reversed the laces on his shoes from the top to the bottom. I don't remember how he got Bucky out of his shoes long enough to do it, but he managed. Getting the pins in the right spot is a huge pain. Doing it under a time crunch is even worse."

Steve felt his smile broadening as he remembered Bucky's colorful curses when he'd discovered the state of his uniform jacket. It didn't remove the constant ache of grief, but it did muffle it for a moment. It was hard to accept the fact he'd never see them again.

"Did Bucky figure out who did it?"

"Oh, yeah. Then he paid Gabe back by hand-sewing the tie-sides of his extra skivvies to the side seams. It took Gabe a couple of hours sitting next to the campfire to get all the stitches out. Buck didn't sew very well so the stitches were all over the place and in no sort of order."

Kathy laughed at the mental image Steve painted for her. "From the sounds of it, they were careful to keep their pranks silly, not dangerous."

Steve nodded. "It's why Colonel Philips didn't try too hard to put a stop to it despite all his yelling about it. Boredom can wreck morale right quick. The boys were always careful with their targets. No one ever messed with weapons or essential gear. Even the backward laced shoes were functional in a pinch." He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. "I miss 'em."

"I'm sure they missed, you, too, after your plane went down. By then, you'd become a family."

"I'd give just about anything to see them again," he admitted, so softly he wondered if Kathy could even hear him.

She squeezed his arm as they walked to let him know she'd heard him just fine. "With everything else that's happened in the last few years, I'm starting to think just about anything is possible. Tony Stark might just invent a time machine and you'll get your chance to do just that."

Steve started to disagree, then stopped himself. He was tired of given ten dollar bills to Nick Fury.

"Until that day comes, you need to start writing these stories down. Memories are a funny thing. They're malleable. Record them before they change."

Steve looked down the street, seeing the Howling Commandos huddled around a campfire while Dernier complained in very colorful French about the smoke getting in his eyes. "Megan says I should write a book." He thought for a long moment, then discarded the idea. "I'm not a writer." The streets of Georgetown came back into focus, and it hurt.

"It doesn't have to be polished prose. You don't have to publish it. But you need to capture the good memories before they're lost."

He shook his head slowly and shifted to shield her from a pedestrian who was paying attention to his phone and would have run right into them if Steve hadn't intervened. "Remembering hurts too much."

"Worse than not being able to remember them at all?" Kathy waited a moment for that to sink in and then switched tactics. "Don't you owe them that much?"

He stopped and looked at her for a long moment. "You do that guilt thing really well."

Kathy let one corner of her mouth turn up. "I'm a mother. It goes with the territory. Just promise me you'll think about it."

He knew the battle was already lost. "Okay."

* * *

The next half hour had Steve so amused that his sides hurt from holding back his laughter. Kathy did a masterful job of sticking close to Greg and making sure Megan never had a chance to get her stepdad alone. Megan, meanwhile, was becoming increasingly bold in her attempts to separate the two. She managed to pass her leather jacket to Steve when she insisted she had to try on a truly hideous blouse that she ended up not buying, saying it had looked better on the hanger. She 'forgot' to take her jacket back from him, so he ignored Kathy's knowing look and folded it over his arm.

Megan's chance finally came when Kathy took pity on her daughter and stopped in front of an antique shop, mulling over whether or not a particular side table would look good in her living room. Megan swooped in, took Greg by the arm, and dragging him off to get his opinion on some potential gift for Steve.

"That was fun," Kathy told Steve, softly as she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the table in the window. "Is she even pretending to show Greg something?"

"Not unless it's in a store two blocks back," he said, watching Megan hustle Greg back towards the car. She permitted herself one backwards glance and gave Steve a smug thumbs-up.

"Trying on that blouse was an act of desperation. I nearly bit through my lip trying not to laugh. Let me have her jacket."

Steve held it for her while she slipped it on and zipped it up.

"It will do," Kathy decided. "What should we do with my purse?"

"It will fit in the saddlebag."

After they secured her purse, he handed her Megan's helmet and helped her adjust the chin strap. He got on the bike and helped Kathy sit down behind him, taking time to show her where to put her feet.

"Just so you know, Stark put radios in our helmets the last time we were in New York. They're voice activated, so just talk normally."

"I'm glad you told me so I didn't shout to be heard and blow out your eardrums."

"That's kind of why I brought it up," he told her and turned on the bike. The engine purred beneath them.

"I'm surprised it's so quiet."

"I don't like noisy bikes. It seems like just another way of showing off. Put your arms around me and hold on. Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

He could hear the nerves in her voice and felt the tension in her arms as she held tightly to his waist. "If anything makes you nervous, just say so."

"I will."

Steve smiled to himself and smoothly guided the bike out of the parking space into traffic. Within a few blocks, he felt Kathy relax a bit behind him. "Relaxing is fine, just don't loosen your grip too much in case I have to maneuver around someone not paying attention."

They drove a bit before Kathy broke the silence. "When did you first ride a motorcycle?"

"That would be when I stole one from the Nazi base we invaded when I had to make a quick escape. The building was set to blow and I'd been delayed a bit getting out. I scooped Fallsworth up on my way. There we were, going full speed down a washed-out dirt road with him shooting our pursuers and complaining the entire time about my lack of driving skills. So the first thing he did when we got back to the camp was tell Stark he needed to get me a real bike and not the inferior pile of scrap metal we'd made out way back on. The next time Stark caught up with us, he gave me the bike you saw in the Smithsonian. It came in handy more than once."

"When did you get this one?"

"Right after the attack on New York. Tony gave it to me. His father pretty much abandoned him in his search to find my plane, so I avoid talking about Howard any time Tony's around. I guess he knew about the bike his dad outfitted for me and decided to do him one better. He didn't explain, just handed me the keys and said to get out of his tower. The building was too modern for a fossil like me to be hanging around in it."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. We got off on the wrong foot from the beginning. I couldn't figure out why he was so hostile when his father had been so helpful. Now I know it's more complicated because of their history. He can be so infuriating while he's doing something nice."

"It must make it difficult to work with him."

"Not in the field. We argue enough the rest of the time to make up for it."

"And yet he flew down here from New York when you were hurt just to deliver pain medicine."

"That's Tony. Have you ever driven by the Lincoln Memorial at night?"

"No."

"Do you want to? It's not too far out of our way."

"Go ahead. Riding with you isn't scary.

"I'm glad."

* * *

Steve took her on a slow tour of the National Mall before heading south over the Potomac towards Megan's apartment. "Hold on tight," he warned her, breaking the pleasant silence. "We've got a driver up ahead who is having some difficulty staying in his lane. Drunk or texting is my guess." He dropped into a lower gear and added as much distance between them as was safe, but given the traffic, other vehicles quickly cut in front of him and filled the space.

"There he goes… hold on!" he said sharply as he saw the driver in question run a red light and t-bone another vehicle, pushing it half-way across the intersection. The three cars ahead of Steve's motorcycle slammed on their brakes, but Steve gunned his engine and slipped around them, parking his bike on the edge of the road. "Get up on the sidewalk and keep your helmet on so you're not identified or hit in another pileup," he ordered as he threw his own helmet down, and darted to the accident scene.

The offending driver got out of his car, swearing loudly at the woman he'd hit. Steve caught his arm and the guy spun around, taking a swing at Steve, who easily sidestepped the blow and spun the man around so he was leaning up against his own car, his arm twisted behind his back. "Be a dear and fetch the duct tape out of the right hand saddle bag," he called to Kathy. He saw her move to comply and turn his attention back to the idiot he was holding upright.

"I have rights!" the guy shouted before launching into a profane litany of Steve's offending traits.

"Let's review them: you have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney, free of charge if you can't afford one. And finally, you have the right to sit down and shut up before I lose my temper," Steve snapped, taking the tape from Kathy and quickly using it to secure man's wrists behind his back. "I'm sure the police will go over your rights again as soon as they get here and place you under arrest."

He turned the man around, wincing a bit at the smell of alcohol coming off his breath. The guy tried to kick him, so Steve held him up by his shirt while using his own foot to knock the guy's knee forward so he collapsed. Once the man was on the ground, Steve wrapped his ankles together and held up the roll of unused tape. "One more word out of you and I'm taping your mouth shut. Please, give me a reason."

With that, he tossed the tape back to Kathy and pushed the sedan away from the victim's car. The driver side door was smashed in, but it wasn't terribly difficult to pull off of its hinges. Steve leaned the door against the front fender and returned to check on the victim.

"Miss? Are you hurt?" he asked gently, restraining her when she tried to get up. "Stay put. There's an ambulance on its way." He'd heard two different bystanders calling 911 or he'd have asked Kathy to call the accident in. "Are you hurt anywhere you know of?"

"What happened?"

"The other driver ran a red light. My name is Steve. What's your name?"

"Beth," she whispered. "My chest hurts. And my left arm."

"That's probably from where the seatbelt caught you," he told her, checking her pulse on her neck. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he turned it on and used the light from the screen to look at her pupils. They seemed to be the same size. "I don't see any sign of a concussion, but you need to get checked out when the ambulance gets here. Your wrist looks swollen. It might be sprained or broken." Gently, he felt for any protruding bones and found nothing out of place. "At least you didn't rearrange the bones. If it's fractured, it's probably just a hairline break. But an x-ray will tell you for sure. Try not to move that arm around until then. Tell me, Beth, do you always plan for Saturday nights to end with a bang like this?"

That got him a small smile. "No, this was rather unexpected. I never saw him coming."

"I know. He's not in full contact with reality at the moment. Is there someone you want me to call for you?"

"My boyfriend Dave. Phone's in my purse."

"May I?"

"Go ahead. I know it's best for me not to move around too much just yet."

Steve reached across her and picked up her purse, then set it at her feet while he felt for the phone. "Do you have a security code?"

She gave it to him and he found Dave in her contacts, placing a call just as the first officer arrived on the scene. As he waved the officer over, he left a brief message, including his own cell phone number, then memorized Dave's phone number so he could update him once he knew what hospital Beth was being sent to.

"I heard two people call 911," he said giving the officer his full attention. "Is an ambulance on the way?"

"Yes, sir. Does she have any injuries?"

Steve shook his head. "None life threatening that I can tell, but Beth agreed to stay put until the medics check her out. She's complaining her chest hurts, which might be from the seat belt. Her left wrist is either sprained of broken. No sign of a concussion yet, but she needs to go to the hospital for an exam by a doctor." He gestured to the driver he'd taped up. "This individual was going about forty when he hit her. Before the accident, he was having a tough time staying in his lane .I was behind him and dropped back to give him room. There were three cars between us when he ran the red light and hit her." He reached into his wallet and pulled out the S.H.I.E.L.D. business cards Megan had insisted he start to carry. "If you need me to give a statement later, you can reach me at S.H.I.E.L.D."

Two other patrol cars pulled up, followed almost immediately by an ambulance. "Sorry about rearranging the wreckage like that. I was focused on making sure Beth was okay," Steve said a bit sheepishly as the other officers started moving the bystanders back and making room for the ambulance team to approach.

"It's quite all right, Captain. At the very least, it will make my report more interesting to fill out."

"I appreciate your understanding," Steve said, shaking hands before moving to where the head medic was examining Beth. "What hospital are you taking her to?"

"George Washington University."

"Beth? I'll call Dave from my phone and let him know that's where you are. You take care now."

She smiled wanly at him. "Thank you, Steve."

He smiled back, unreasonably pleased that she didn't seem to recognize him.

As he walked back to his bike, he left a second message on Dave's phone and took his helmet from Kathy. She'd apparently picked it up for him while he was dealing with the drivers. He put it on and swung his leg over his bike, then took her hand while she got on behind him. "Are you okay? He asked her as he started his bike.

"I'm fine. This is going to be all over the internet, isn't it?"

"It already is. I counted at least a half-dozen camera phones. I give it a half hour before someone online suggests you're not Megan. This could get interesting."

"I sent Megan a text explaining why we're running late. She said to tell you hot pie is waiting for us, but we need to pick up ice cream. Find a convenience store and I'll run in while you stay with the bike."

Steve pulls out and threaded the motorcycle around the accident scene and past the bystanders who had gathered to watch the first responders do their jobs, "You're shaking. Are you sure you're all right?"

"It's just a vicarious adrenaline rush. It all happened so fast. Why'd you rip the car door off instead of just going around to the passenger side?"

"It gave me an outlet for my anger that didn't involve snapping that guy's neck. He could have killed someone tonight. More importantly, it gave the E.M.T.s easier access in the event she was gravely injured. Unfortunately, I wasn't really thinking about how much attention it was going to attract."

"I think it was probably for the best," she said, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

"You haven't seen the internet feeds yet."

"I don't need to. Maybe most people won't stop to think about what it means that you'll stop at an accident scene and help out, but some of them will. You lead by example and you've got a commanding presence when you need to lead. I noticed even the first officer on the scene was deferring to you, and he probably didn't even realize why."

Steve nodded, then realized she probably couldn't tell. "I noticed it, too." He sighed. "I miss being able to blend in. Aren't there _any_ boundaries any more?"

"There might be a few, but they're hard to find. I don't like it, either. Something precious has been lost with all this technology, but I don't see any way to get it back."

"We can bomb ourselves back to the Stone Ages," Steve suggested, trying to lighten the mood. "That would work."

"I like my microwave and I have no interest in giving up central air conditioning, either."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Live your life as you see fit and ignore the rest. It's out of your control."

"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s P.R. department disagrees with you."

Kathy laughed at that. "It's a government agency, Steve. Of course they have layers upon layers of bureaucracy as well as idiots making policies that have no bearing on the real world."

"Did you know that there are some in the military who argue that Dr. Banner and I are actually property of the U.S. government?"

"That's appalling. Maybe you need to stop being so nice and start pushing back. It's clear they want to use your image to sell policy. Use the media to beat them at their own game and get your own message out. You can't let people in the government tell you how to live your life. You've earned the right to tell them to take a long walk off a short plank if they try to control you. I'll bring the shark bait."

* * *

Steve, honey, we need to talk. I'm trying to finish _Roots and Anchor_ s. You can't keep demanding center stage like this, not even to show off your motorcycle. Stop acting like Tony. Look at the description above. Do you see how it says COMPLETE? That is your cue to do the unthinkable and follow orders. That means there will be no more four AM suggestions about what else you want to talk about. You may like being awake at that unholy hour, but I need sleep. Clear?


	4. The Train

This fits alongside chapters 70-72 of Roots and Anchors. Steve has been putting up a brave front, but on the inside, he's not doing so well. Megan's encounter with the pickpocket rattled him a lot, which is something Greg picked up on very quickly. The man sees more than he says, as Steve is going to find out. For those that have been asking to see more of Greg and Steve together, I hope this satisfies you. It's challenging to write interactions between two people who do their best to avoid talking too much or letting their guard down!

* * *

"What do you want to see first?" Greg asked young Steve as the six of them arrived at the zoo entrance. As promised, young Steve had held his hero's hand on the Metro and made a special effort to talk about what he had been doing at school as a distraction. The boys reminded him so much of himself and Bucky it hurt.

"Don't worry, Seth, you and I are going straight to where you can see the fish." Steve heard Megan say softly as she gave Steve a smile. "Text me when you're ready to meet up for the carousel."

"We will," Steve said, before turning to his namesake. "Well?"

"Elephants."

"An excellent choice," Greg commented. "Do you know the way?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then lead on. We'll be right behind you."

Steve smiled as he fell into step beside Greg, letting young Steve lead them through the zoo grounds. Habit had made him memorize the zoo map before their arrival, so he knew their young leader was heading in the right direction.

"Will you draw the elephants for me?" Steve asked as they reached a part of the trail where one of the elephants was visible. She was pushing a large ball around the exhibit with her trunk.

"That was the promise. Do you want something life-like or cartoonish?"

The boy thought a moment, then scrunched his nose up as he tried to decide. "Both?" he asked hesitantly.

Steve heard Greg chuckle, softly enough that the boy didn't notice, and Steve nodded solemnly. "Sure." He looked around and found a bench partly in the shade. "We'll be sitting over here until you're ready to move on. There's no rush, but I can draw from memory if you want to keep moving."

"Okay."

While they watched, the pachyderm gently nudged the ball aimlessly around the enclosure.

"She looks bored. Do you think they are happy here?" young Steve asked, turning his back to the fence so he could talk to the adults.

"I don't know," Steve answered honestly without looking up from the sketch pad where he was laying down the basic lines of the elephant pushing the ball. She was guiding it towards her cartoon counterpart, which he had yet to sketch. "I do know that they travel large distances every day in the wild and they can't do that here."

"Mom says they're endangered because people keep wrecking the wild places they live."

"That's true. The zoo is certainly safer for them in some ways. They never have to go hungry."

"But it's still a cage. They can't leave," young Steve said thoughtfully before turning back to the fence.

"Sometimes there aren't any good choices." Greg commented. "We don't know how to ask the elephants what they want. Maybe when you grow up you'll figure out a way to do that and then we can let them decide for themselves."

"I once saw an elephant peel an orange with her trunk before she ate it," Steve said. He decided to have the cartoon elephant do just that so she could share the fruit with her friend. It didn't take long for him to outline the body of the first elephant. "She laid it on the ground and used her proboscis to peel it. I never could figure out how she got it started, though."

"What's a pro… pro boxes?"

"Proboscis. It's the fingerlike part at the tip of the trunk."

"You make that look easy," Greg commented as he watched the drawing take shape.

Young Steve came over and looked at the drawing's progress. "Wow. You're so fast."

Steve smiled. "I've had practice. I've been drawing since I was younger than you. Like Seth, I wasn't really able to play with the other kids in my neighborhood much. I was sick a lot and had to stay inside resting. I used that time to draw."

"Did you have any friends?"

"Bucky. He was a year older than me and whenever I got myself into trouble, he got me out. He brought books over to my house and read them to me when I was sick. Everyone liked him. He could have spent his days playing outside with the other kids. Instead, he chose to spend time with me. I remember being really grateful that someone thought I was worth the trouble. He was my best friend for a really long time." Steve resisted the temptation to point out the obvious similarities between young Steve and Bucky. The kid had enough on his shoulders. Watching out for Seth had to be his choice, not something forced upon him by the adults in his life. Instead, he worked on the cartoon elephant handing part of an orange to her friend using her trunk.

"What happened to him? To Bucky?"

"He died in World War II when we were trying to stop some really bad men from hurting a lot of people."

"But you have other friends now, don't you?"

Steve nodded, looking up to find dark brown eyes peering at him with concern. "I do. But none of them are Bucky. Are you ready to move on?"

"Do you mind if we skip the bird house? I'd rather see the cheetahs."

Greg stood up, smiling. "Son, this is your day to pick the animals you want to see while Seth looks at the fish. Lead the way to the cheetahs."

* * *

"Why'd you tell him about the train, earlier?" Greg asked quietly as they hiked to the cheetah exhibit. Greg kept his voice low enough that the boy didn't hear him.

"I've seen too many kids at the hospital being told to be brave by their parents. The kids think brave means they're not supposed to be scared. Telling him they actually go together won't help, but knowing I get scared might. He's been through enough."

Greg just nodded his agreement. "How did Bucky die on the train?" When Steve shot him a questioning look, Greg just raised his eyebrow. "He's been in your thoughts a lot today. I figure they're related."

Greg and Steve settled on a bench near the cheetah exhibit where the cats were dozing lazily in the sun. The atmosphere had changed during the walk up and Steve didn't care for the shift. He didn't want to talk about Bucky right now. Greg was right: he was on his mind, the day he died was lurking beneath the surface, stalking him. Steve opened his sketch pad and tried to capture the look of the nearest cat curled up in a puddle of sunshine. Blunt claws were partly retracted but still visible on the padded feet. Steve took note of the claws, thinking they looked more like those of a dog, and made a mental note to research the difference later.

"So what happened to him?"' Greg asked softly.

"He died." Steve tried to keep sketching, tried not to let Greg's question rattle him. He'd faced the truth of that day a long time ago. There was nothing Greg could say to change it.

"I'm not minimizing that. But I also think there's more to the story. There's a reason why it's still eating at you."

Steve felt Greg's hand on his back, the touch lessening the harshness of the words. It was the touch of a parent, the tone offering no option but to answer. Defeated, Steve tucked the pencil away where he wouldn't break it and shut the sketchpad. Softly, he relayed the story he'd only told twice before: once, in his report to the military the day of the accident, and the second, when Rebecca had asked. Telling it didn't get any easier. Wasn't it supposed to get easier? How could it? The ending was always the same.

Steve kept his head down and eyes shut, fighting to contain his reaction. This wasn't the place to break down. He was out in public and letting his guard down wasn't an option, especially when he had two boys in his care.

"I can certainly see how that would weigh a man down. That doesn't mean you need to can't learn to carry it better. Right now, the load's off balance and rubbing you raw."

"It's my fault."

"Maybe it is. I wasn't there, so I can't really say. But knowing who was responsible doesn't change the outcome."

"Shoulda been me."

"What are the odds that if it had been you, he'd be sitting here saying the same thing?"

Steve winced a bit at that. "Ya'sound like you knew him."

"No, and that's my loss. What would he tell you, if he were here now?"

"Stop feeling guilty. Move on."

"Is that so?"

Steve's head snapped up and he looked at Greg in shock, only to find the man smiling gently at him.

Greg squeezed his shoulder. "You sound like a parrot. I didn't ask what you're supposed to do. I asked you what Bucky would _say_. Now, I never met him, but I'd have figured he had a bit more Brooklyn in him and a lot less parrot." He stood up. "Looks like we're ready to move on. It seems that our young friend has realized that sleeping cats are boring to watch.

Steve mutely followed them as young Steve talked excitedly about orangutans using overhead cables to travel around the zoo and led the charge towards the primate house. Greg kept the boy busy, allowing Steve to trail behind them, his head spinning with thoughts he didn't care to examine.

* * *

Steve settled himself on another bench, this time, laying down the outline of a gorilla. Greg sat beside him, occasionally glancing at the sketchpad but mostly watching the primates and the boy at the railing. It made it easier for Steve to ignore him and get lost in his own thoughts.

The defeated sorrow in the gorilla's gaze was all too familiar, too easily transferred to the sketchpad. As the afternoon wore on, Steve found himself liking the zoo less and less. Maybe it was projection on his part, but he kept seeing prisoners in Azzano where others saw animals on exhibit. Dum Dum, graceful despite his bulk, was in the elephant's enclosure. Denier, his gaze sharp and knowing, looked at him from the gorilla cage. Bucky, the caged tiger, lithe and…. Steve bowed his head, willing the thoughts to stop.

"It's okay to mull it over. It will come to you. Maybe not today, maybe not this week, but you'll figure it out," Greg finally said. "Maybe you should stop thinking in words and try sketching it all out."

Steve looked at his hands. They were the hands that had failed Bucky. "Even when I had nothing I had Bucky. I don't know how to get over losing him."

"Who says you should?" Greg asked blandly as he stood up to follow their young charge to the next exhibit.

For the second time that afternoon, Greg rendered Steve speechless. Ever since he'd woken from the ice, he'd been surrounded by so-called experts who told him to embrace his new life, grieve his past, and move on.

Megan had been the one exception. She'd never pushed him one way or the other. Sure, she'd helped him adjust to this modern world, but she encouraged him to talk about his past. Barely a day went by without Bucky being mentioned in a conversation, as if he were still around and not dead and his remains left to rot in the wilderness decades ago. The Howling Commandos were as often the topic of conversation as the Avengers. Megan talked about all his friends the same way instead of categorizing them by living and dead.

Now Greg was telling him he wasn't expected to get over the life he'd lost, which was something Steve found shocking. Greg had never suggested seeking closure or other buzzwords Steve had discovered during a desperate internet search one bleak, early morning when his grief had been especially raw. Greg's blasé comment left Steve shaken. Was he really supposed to spend the rest of his life feeling like this?

Maybe that was a fitting punishment for allowing Bucky to die.

His phone rang and he answered it blindly, barely aware he'd set down his pencil to thumb the device on. "Rogers."

"Steve, Megan was attacked by a would-be thief. She has him pinned to the floor, but if you ask me, she seems a bit confused about what to do next aside from asking me to call you."

"En route," he snapped and shut the phone off. He was on his feet and ten paces away before he remembered he wasn't alone. "Wait here," he called over his shoulder to Greg before leaping over a stroller that was blocking his path. He'd lost too much already. He couldn't lose Megan, too.

* * *

"Who are you?" he growled as he shoved Megan's assailant up against the nearest wall.

Megan slipped her hand into his free one, calming the wildness within him. The gesture reassured him she was unharmed while she passed him a slip of paper. _Oh_. He locked his fear and rage away. He'd let them out later, much later, when sandbags in the gym would bear the brunt of his emotions and there would be no witnesses to his weakness. He swapped the paper for the phone in his jeans pocket and called Hill. Megan was okay. It was time for the Captain to take charge.

After his assistance at the car accident had gone viral, Hill had "requested" that he alert her to any other acts of assisting the public that might attract similar attention. Given the number of cell phones he saw recording them, this certainly qualified. Besides, it was fun to rattle her with any actions that deviated from the caricature Captain America had become after seven frozen decades. He wasn't supposed to have opinions, much less a sense of humor. He didn't try to keep the smile from his voice as he talked to her.

"Hill, it's Rogers," Steve said into the phone. He didn't even wait for her to acknowledge him before continuing, "I'm just doing what you asked and keeping you informed. Megan was targeted by a pickpocket at the zoo and put Widow's training to work. I'm holding him against the wall as we speak.

"You're making my weekend more complicated, Captain."

He didn't answer. He wasn't about to apologize for this, though he did wink at Megan.

"Was the assault in any way successful? Is Dr. Buchwald harmed?"

"No, he didn't get anything…. she's fine."

"I'm sending a car to take you two home. They can be there in five minutes."

"Okay, but make it for six in about a half hour. We're not leaving just yet."

"Six passengers?" Maria repeated, and Steve could imagine her looking at the ceiling in search of an explanation she knew he wasn't going to provide. "I'll change the dispatch orders to a van. The police are on their way. You need to learn how to keep a low profile, Captain."

Again, he allowed his silence to speak for him and disconnected the call. If S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted a puppet soldier, they'd thawed the wrong guy. A sideways glance at Megan brought a new smile to his face. She was shaken, yes, but her face was also flushed with pride at taking down her assailant. And the twinkle in her eye said she had an idea of how to handle this from here, pending his agreement. With a slight twitch of the corner of his mouth, he gave permission and mentally stepped back to watch the show. The sandbags weren't going anywhere.

* * *

Once the boys were full of ice cream and happily riding the carousel, Steve moved away from the group and tried to get his thoughts back under control. The adrenaline rush was over and the crash was never fun. He was surprised with how severe it was, given he was used to much smaller crashes after far more dangerous missions. Maybe it was because he was already on edge. Or maybe it was because Megan had been targeted again. He closed his eyes, fighting to slow his breathing. Everything was fine now. Steve and Seth were oblivious to the tension the adults around them felt. The only cell phones he saw in use were held by parents recording their kids as the rode horses in an endless circle of music and laughter.

Greg slid into place beside him at the railing, pretending to watch the carousel's riders. "Given how spooked you are, I'd say there's a lot more going on than either of you have told us."

Steve nodded slightly. He knew he was a lousy liar and he wasn't about to lie to Greg and Kathy. He'd misdirect, evade, and even use security clearances to dodge some topics, but he wouldn't outright lie to them. That was doubly true when it related to Megan. He kept his voice low and tone casual as he answered, "Natasha and Clint are working on it but haven't found anything yet."

Greg made a slight hum in his throat but otherwise looked like a doting grandparent. "Professionals, then. Is this in any way related to Tony Stark buying the house next door?"

Steve shot him a sharp glance.

Greg smiled slightly, eyes twinkling despite the seriousness of their discussion. "Kathy hasn't figured it out yet."

Steve scanned the crowd and then looked back at the boys. They were so innocent, lost in the joy of the moment. "Threats were made… the security teams are a precaution at this point. There's another at Carl's trailer park. Natasha assures me that these cases can take time to crack open, but she and Clint will get it done." Steve sighed and looked down, lowering his voice even more. "I hate keeping secrets, but in this case, it's for the long game. When it's all over, we'll sit down and tell you everything."

"Does Megan know all if it?"

Steve nodded once, slightly.

"Good. I'm not telling Kathy. She'll just worry to no good end. And the less the rest of us know, the less we compromise the long game as you call it." He paused as he shifted his arms on the railing. "How worried are you?"

Steve closed his eyes for a moment and suppressed a shudder. "I can't let myself go there. We're doing everything we can. If anything happened to Megan, I'm not sure I'd survive it. I don't think I have another fresh start in me."

Greg put his hand on his back. "I've come back from that kind of loss, you know. When my first wife died, it felt like they buried me, too. But I knew she wanted me to keep going. Seeing where I ended up, I'm glad I did. That didn't in any way make it easy getting here. No matter what happens, you're not alone, Steve. And Megan won't go down without a fight."

He smiled wistfully. "I think the universe is paying me back for what I put Bucky through. Her willingness to fight terrifies me."

"And yet you don't have a team of bodyguards surrounding her."

"We know that's coming in some form soon enough," he said, alluding to their upcoming marriage, when his fame alone would require some level of protection for her. "We can't do too much and tip our hand. I also know a cage would destroy her. It's better to empower her to fight for herself. I just hope what we're doing is enough."

"Life is risk. That can be a blessing, too. When you know how fragile happiness can be, you really appreciate it when you've got it and cling to the memory in the times you are lost in the valley of despair. The sunshine always finds you in the end."

Steve wished he could agree. Right now, the shadows were so large and looming that only Megan seemed able keep them at bay. If her light went out... Steve knew he'd be lost forever.

* * *

The nightmares started that night and got much worse after Kathy and Greg left. It was all too familiar the way he'd wake sweating in his bed reaching for Bucky as he fell. He could taste the bile in his throat as he watched Bucky fall. Again. The wind was no longer cold as the train carried him further and further was too numbed by grief. All he could see was endless snow. He blinked back tears. He had a mission; Bucky had died in this fight. Steve owed it to him to see the mission through to the end.

Steve flung back the covers of his bed and stumbled to the living room. It might be July, but he still felt the snowy chill of that day in his bones. A glance at the clock told him he'd been asleep for barely an hour. Since waking Sunday morning, he'd gotten about four hours of sleep total. That wasn't enough, even for him. He could feel his reaction times slowing. His balance was off. There was no way he could return to field work in this state. There was no hiding the dark circles under his eyes, especially when working with an agency full of spies.

Resigned, Steve put on a pot of coffee and curled up on the couch with his sketch pad. Every night, he ended up here, sketching pictures of Bucky on the train. He drew without conscious thought, just let his feelings guide the pencil lead as the same image took shape again and again. Bucky's hand just out of reach. Bucky's look of terror as the metal railing gave way and he fell backwards. The endless snow.

Steve turned the page and started again. Snow. A deep ravine. Icy wind outside the train. The tailored lines of Bucky's coat. The gun in his hands was incongruous with the wings.

Wings?

Steve blinked, coming back to full awareness as he looked at the latest sketch. Bucky's expression was one of murderous determination as he flew up from the ravine he'd fallen in, soaring up towards Steve with a rifle in his arms. It was the same rifle he'd carried out of Azzano, walking proudly beside him as the marched back to the camp. His wings were glorious with white feathers that gleamed with silver highlights. Steve could see it so clearly even though the sketch was done in simple graphite. The piercing blue eyes looked across decades, challenging him with the unspoken question of what the hell Steve thought he was doing with his life.

"I haven't a clue, Buck," Steve whispered to the paper. All he knew right now was that the sketch was begging to be painted. He needed to capture this moment in oils.

* * *

He was on his third pot of coffee when the alarm clock sounded from his bedroom. Steve wiped his hands on a rag and looked at the progress he'd made on the background. At least he had something to show for another sleepless night. Hopefully, he'd be so tired tonight from training that the nightmares would leave him alone. "I have to hope, Buck," he told the sketch tiredly. "I can't let them down." He wanted to say more, to vocalize his frustration that he was constantly rotated around, never getting to know the other agents. Mindful of the bugs in his apartment, he held his tongue. Maybe it was better this way. No matter how good the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were, they'd never be the Howling Commandos. Maybe it was a kindness on Fury's part that had him using Steve as a cog in a wheel, never getting too close to teammates that would die in the field.

His stomach growled and pulled him from his thoughts. He needed to hurry if he was going to get a shower and still have time to cook breakfast.

* * *

"Bucky!" Steve shouted as he reached for his friend. The metal railing bent under his weight. "Just hold on!"

"Steve!" Megan screamed behind him.

Steve turned and saw Megan clinging to a thin bar. As the train rounded a curve, the movement flung her body away from the railcar, further bending the fragile handhold. "Hold on!" he begged.

He was paralyzed as he leaned out the opening. They were both in danger of falling. He had to choose who to save first. How was he supposed to choose? "I'm coming!" he promised both of them, whipping his gaze from one to the other. He blinked and suddenly Megan was with Bucky. They were hanging off the same railing and it gave way under their combined weight before Steve shook off his paralysis. They held hands as they fell, faces turned away from him. He'd failed them both and they were both too disgusted to even look at him now. He watched as they disappeared into the blowing snow, their final resting place framed with his outstretched, empty fingers.

Steve woke up sobbing and stumbled to the bathroom just in time to surrender to the dry heaves. The taste of bile filled his throat, burning the healing cuts on his lip. Training today hadn't gone well. The trainers were pleased, either pretending to be oblivious or too inexperienced with critiquing super soldiers to notice Steve's numerous errors during the exercise. While he'd still won the mock battle that pitted him against a team of agents, he'd taken far longer to achieve the goal and accumulated far more injuries than were his norm. He was compromised and no one knew it.

He curled up on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and considered his options. Staying here wasn't one of them. If he spent one more night alone, he'd succumb to madness. He was too tired to go to the gym. Besides, beating sandbags wasn't going to help this time.

He needed Megan. He needed to see she was alive and safe. She'd hold him and help chase away the chill in his bones. She'd smile and brush the hair back from his eyes and tell him it was okay to cry while she kept watch. He'd bury his face in the curve of her neck and breathe in her scent, forgetting for a moment how much he'd lost and how alone he was. He needed her like he needed oxygen. Maybe he'd even be able to sleep for a bit if he went to her.

It was embarrassing, humiliating, really, to need someone to hold his hand so he could sleep. He was a grown man. He was Captain America, for crying out loud. He'd fought the both the Nazis and aliens from another dimension. He should be able to sleep by himself in his own bed.

The sad truth was, he couldn't. Not tonight. At least Megan wouldn't tease him about it.

As he packed a change of clothes so he could leave for work from her place, he considered running. She only lived a few miles away. The rhythm of his feet on the pavement might clear his head. But another day in the rugged terrain of the training base might make returning home on foot unwise. He was still nursing sprains from yesterday. Resigned to being practical, he grabbed his bike helmet before strapping his shield to his back on his way out the door.

* * *

He locked her apartment door with silent relief and gave Jarvis a half-hearted wave into the camera that monitored Megan's apartment as he dropped his bag on the dining room table and laid his shield on top of it.

He padded down the short hallway and carefully opened her bedroom door. Streetlights shone around the edges of the window shade, casting her room in a dim light. He stood there for a long moment, just watching Megan sleep, and felt the tension slide from his shoulders. She was safe.

Closing the door behind him, he quickly stripped to his boxers and stepped softly towards the bed. Megan roused, smiled at him, and flipped the corner of the blankets back in invitation. He lay down beside her, let her curl up against him with her head on his shoulder, and fell asleep.

When the alarm blared the next morning, it came as a shock. He'd slept soundly for almost three straight hours. The haze that had clouded his thinking for days wasn't as thick. The chill of winter ice was a memory against his skin, not aching in his bones.

Megan prodded him to talk but provided only comfort, not judgment, when he confessed the nightmare. She let him keep his dignity despite his weakness. Her caring touch drove his shame further beneath his skin and he pushed aside the memories of the night to more practical matters of getting ready for work. Now that he had gotten some rest, he found himself looking forward to training again today. He'd never stop appreciating the pleasure of pushing his healthy body to new limits.

If sleep was a drug, Megan was an addiction. The former, he managed without pretty well. The latter? He needed her to function. For reasons he'd never understand, she seemed determined to keep him around. She kept him sane. All he could offer her was love. He could only hope it would be enough for her in the coming years.

* * *

That night, he sat on Megan's couch and sketched out different ideas for something to give Janice. Nothing seemed to hit the right tone and he finally tossed the sketchpad on the coffee table in disgust.

"Come to bed," she said softly, tugging at his hand. Had she really been puttering in the kitchen just waiting for him to reach his limit? Apparently so.

Wordlessly, he nodded and let her lead him to the bedroom. She tucked him in like a child before retreating to the bathroom to brush her teeth and observe her own nightly routine.

A few minutes later, she curled up against him, head on his shoulder, and traced her index finger down his sternum. "Talk to me. Tell me what's going through your head."

"I don't know how to let go."

"It's not a singular event, Steve. You just try to move forward every day and you're doing that. To be blunt, I don't think anyone really stops grieving. You just learn to bear it after awhile." Stroked his brow. "Have you thought about going to a grief support group? I'll go with you."

Steve shook his head. "I have you."

"I'm not enough."

Those words froze his soul, but she pressed her finger to his lips before he could argue.

"I'm humbled and grateful that you came to me. I recognize that it's really hard for you to let anyone in. But I can't be your entire support system, Steve. It's not healthy for either of us. I'll do anything I can to help you, including telling you truths you don't want to hear. This is one of them: you need more than me.

He rolled onto his side and pressed his face into her neck. "I'm not ready for that yet."

"That's okay. I know even coming to be me was a big step. I'll let it go for now. But I'm going to look into some groups. As I understand them, you don't have to talk. Sometimes, just listening to others at other stages of the grief journey can help. I know they have strict confidentiality rules. I'll do some checking so when you are ready to take that step, we know where to go. If we need to have nondisclosure agreements ready as extra insurance, I'll find out."

He sighed. "Okay."

"Right now, what's hurting the most?"

"I just keep waiting for the nightmare to be over. Do you know how many times a day I think to myself, 'I can't wait to tell Bucky about this?' Then I remember and it hits me all over again. It's been two years since I lost him and it's a fresh as yesterday."

"Steve, it might stay that way. You told me before your memory got a lot better after the serum. You no longer have things get fuzzy as time passes. There's great pain in that, I can tell. But there's a gift there, too."

"I don't see it."

"Can you draw his face? Remember his voice? Do you remember the smell of his skin as you huddled together under too thin blankets to try to keep warm?"

He nodded against her, sobbing a bit as he did so. He remembered all of it. That's why it hurt so much.

"That's the gift, honey. He's still with you, looking over your shoulder and dragging you out of trouble. You know every facial expression, every shifting tone of his voice, and you don't have to worry about losing them, ever. It's a heavy gift, but that _is_ a gift. The nightmare from last night was just a dream. I'm here. You're safe. Now try to sleep. Things will look better in the morning."

* * *

He watched in horror as Bucky fell from the train. The metal railing gave way before Steve had been able to reach him. Steve froze, his was stretched out, reaching into the abyss, as he watched Bucky fall.

"You're being stupid, Punk," Bucky said as he hauled Steve away from the opening and shoved him down inside the train. "Keep hanging out the door and you'll fall. I did."

"Bucky?" Steve fell back on his butt, gaping up at the vengeful soldier who stood looming over him. His silver wings were neatly folded behind his back.

Bucky grinned, rolled his eyes, and looked back at Steve. "You've known me nearly all your life, you big dumb jerk. Did you seriously just forget my name?" Bucky shook his head and instead shoved something at Steve. "You dropped something back there. Try to hold onto it better this time."

It hit him in the chest but vanished when he tried to catch it. He'd failed Bucky again.

Bucky shook his head in mock disgust, but pressed his hand to Steve's chest, pushing something into him with warm fingers placed right over his heart. "It's hope, Stevie. You can't hold it in your hands like you've been trying to. You need to start living a life rich enough for both of us." He held his hand out and Steve let himself be pulled to his feet. "First, though, you need to go kick some Nazi ass. And for Pete's sake, take some piloting classes. Your flying skills are _terrible_."

Bucky swatted at the green bird that was flying around his head. "Damn parrot. Someone needs to shoot that dumb beast," he grumbled as he dove through the open side of the train, spreading his wings out as he did so. He called over his shoulder, "I mean it, Steve. Learn to fly and you won't catch grief for skipping the parachute!" Then he was gone, leaving Steve alone on the train as it raced through the mountains.

* * *

"G'morning," Megan mumbled sleepily as soon as he'd shut off the alarm. "How you feeling?"

Steve hugged Megan to him as he realized he actually felt somewhat rested. "Better. No nightmares." His brow furrowed as he remembered fragments of a dream about the train. This time Bucky had been talking to him and was threatening to shoot an annoying, fluorescent-green crow. "At least, I don't think I had any nightmares."

"Then I'd say it's a better day already. I'm starved, so you should get your shower first.

Steve nodded and watched her get out of bed and head towards the kitchen. His memory of the dream was fragmented and hazy, but he remembered Bucky saying he needed to live a rich life. Maybe that was the only way forward. Nothing would bring Bucky back, but Megan was right about how well Steve remembered him. Maybe, if he tried to live in the moment, he'd be able to use his imaginings of Bucky's reactions to help keep him close. Letting go of the past had failed, so maybe it was time to hold on tightly to the memories and let the voices of his past guide him in the present.

It wasn't difficult to imagine what Bucky would say about him moping in bed while a brilliant, gorgeous woman was moving around the apartment making breakfast for them.

Smiling for the first time in what seemed like ages, Steve was ready to face the day with something resembling contentment filling his chest.

* * *

A/N. There are times I am insanely jealous of the painters and other visual artists who can bring the images I see in my head to life. I'd give my right arm to be able to paint Angel Bucky with a rifle soaring up out of the canyon, or sketch Meagan riding a horse bareback as it gallops down a beach at sunset. Sigh. You'll just have to imagine along with me.


	5. Club Stork

This is set just after chapter 74 in Roots and Anchors

* * *

"She really loves you," Peggy said softly as Megan left them alone.

"I love her, too," Steve replied. He expected it to feel like a betrayal to say that to Peggy, but it didn't. Instead, it felt good. Honest. "She's helped me start living again. It's been so hard, Peg."

"Life can be hard, but it's worth it. Now, I do believe I promised to teach you to dance." Smiling, she showed him where to put his hands and led him gently through a simple waltz. "Now you lead," she said, looking at him with encouragement. He nodded slightly and took charge.

Closing his eyes, and ignoring the distinct lack of smoke in the air, he could almost believe it was 1945. All of his fight training must have paid off because he didn't step on her toes.

Putting her head on his shoulder, she said softly, "Tell me how you met Megan."

He faltered a moment, and opened his eyes to see her smiling knowingly at him.

"You're clearly smitten with each other. I'm feeling like myself today, so I'm actually likely to remember what you tell me. Stories about my life can wait until another time since I'm told I don't muck those up unless I'm really addled." She patted his cheek as the song faded. "Let's sit.

Mutely, he followed her to the office sofa that was along one wall and sat down beside her.

Peggy continued, "That might be as soon as tomorrow. Fatigue makes it worse." She arched an eyebrow at him when she saw his dismay. "Don't look at me like that, Steve. I'd rather spend the days I have left doing something meaningful, not lying in bed wasting away. I just want you to be prepared. Now, how did you meet her?"

"Peggy…"

"Alzheimer's is worse than Hydra since it's an enemy I can't fight," she admitted, patting his hand. "But you'll have the memories of today long after I'm gone, and that's one reason I'm here."

Steve nodded, unable to get any words past the lump in his throat. He took a deep breath, desperate to change the mood. "I need you to explain something."

"Anything."

"When Private Lorraine kissed me, you fired four rounds at me. But my fiancée is threatening violence if I _don't_ kiss you. It's very confusing."

Peggy laughed. "Fetch me my whiskey, and I'll try to explain."

Dutifully, he got up and retrieved her glass from the table and handed it to her. Her hands were wrinkled with decades he'd missed, though her grip was firm. He'd missed so much.

"It's quite simple," she said, puling him out of his thoughts. "Megan was telling you she's not jealous while I was telling you that I was. I think you already knew that, scamp that you are."

She squeezed his hands and he nodded, admitting he'd been teasing her. She knew him so well.

"How did you meet her?"

"I was eating lunch in the S.H.I.E.L.D. cafeteria," Steve said in a low voice. From there, the whole story poured out of him. He told her about their book club, the attack on Megan, the pretense of dating, and falling in love with her despite himself. Whenever he thought he was done, Peggy would ask another insightful question and he found himself telling her even more. Her years as the director of S.H.I.E.L.D and practice extracting information from informants soon had him articulating all of his doubts about his role in the world, his deep grief for Bucky, his adoration of Megan, and his deep gratitude for the lifeline she'd thrown him. Somehow, Peggy knew just how to keep him talking.

When he finished, she covered their linked hands with her left and squeezed. "For what it's worth, I approve of her. I've worried about you and how you're coping. You glow when you talk about her and I'm glad."

"I'm sorry I didn't come see you—"

"No, Steve. No apologies. You had a hell of an adjustment and you needed time to sort things out. As broad as your shoulders now are, even you have limits to how much you can carry at once. I knew you'd contact me when you were ready."

"But I didn't. I—"

"You were going to, soon. I have no doubts about that. Megan just made it easier for you once she knew you were ready. She's good for you. Now, tell me about your friends."

"My friends?"

"When you have a really good day, or a really bad one, who do you call?"

"Megan."

"And then?"

He just sat there. Sure, Clint and Natasha had been there when he needed them, but they weren't yet to the point where he called them on a whim. He had coworkers and teammates, not friends.

Peggy shook her head. "Oh, Steve. What are we going to do with you?

"I'm trying. I'm just lost without Bucky.

"Clearly. But you need to learn to stand on your own. He'd want you to let him go. Did you know that two days after we lost you, the Howling Commandos and I got together, in a pub of course, and took a vow. We all promised we'd live lives worthy of the sacrifices you and Sargent Barnes had made. Dugan took over as their commander. He didn't leave the field for a couple of years, leading the new Howling Commandos team in covert operations intent on dismantling Hydra. He didn't come in until Howard talked to him about founding S.H.I.E.L.D.

"It was _hard_. It took me a solid year before I was really able to let go of you enough to start thinking about more than the pain I was in. Remind me some time to tell you about the last vial of your blood I discovered in storage and how I poured it off of the Brooklyn Bridge. Even Howard, despite his insistence that you had survived, eventually limited his search for you to once a year. Clinging to the past isn't going to bring it back. You need to look forward and make new friends. You're a good man, Steve. Making friends isn't that difficult."

Steve found himself shaking his head. "It's not that simple. Before..." he said, as he gestured to himself, "I was invisible or sick all the time. Now, everyone just wants a piece of Captain America."

"Not everyone. Megan clearly doesn't. You let your guard down with her and let her in. How do you expect other people to see the real you if you're hiding behind that image?"

"They never try to see me."

Peggy laughed. "You're still being dramatic. Is it hard? Yes. But when did you ever let that stop you? Just start talking to people. Be yourself. Eventually, you'll cross paths with someone worth getting to know."

"Like Beth and Dave?"

"Who?"

Steve's heart broke when he realized she'd already forgotten. He wanted to pretend it was because he'd done a poor job of telling Peggy about his life. In his heart, he knew it was the enemy slowly destroying her from the inside. "Megan's mom and I were first on the scene when Beth was in a car accident," he explained, then told the story again. Peggy listened raptly, asking some of the same questions she had a few minutes ago.

Finally, she nodded. "Yes, you need more friends like them. You should invite them over for dinner. Speaking of dinner, I'm getting hungry and I hear your stomach voicing agreement. Jarvis, what time is it?"

"It is nearly time for you to head down to the main conference room. The caterers are bringing out the hot dishes."

"I don't think I can do this," he admitted softly. Seeing Peggy again was one thing. Even if the guest list were limited to the direct descendants of the Howling Commandos, he knew a crowd of strangers was waiting for him. His friends were gone, and he wasn't sure he was ready to see their features and mannerisms manifesting in new bodies. He didn't know these people. Megan's idea had been nice, but he wasn't prepared to accept the permanent absence of his team. His brothers. Meeting their families would make those deaths real, just as seeing Peggy aged drove home the decades he'd missed. "I'm just going to disappoint them."

"Nonsense. I can tell you're nervous, but you don't need to be. If you'd managed to land that plane, you'd know them all already. This is your family and it is high time you got to know them. Besides, this is your chance to tell all of embarrassing stories they neglected to share when they got home. Surely you don't think that Private Jones told his wife about his dance with Sargent Barnes, do you?"

Steve laughed at the memory. "I'd forgotten about that!"

"On your feet, Captain. It's time to go set the record straight and tarnish the images those boys tried to sell their families on when they got home."

After he stood and helped her to her feet, she took his face in her hands and kissed him chastely. "It's so good to see you and know you have a good life ahead of you. Promise me you won't waste this second chance."

"I promise."


	6. Grant

This chapter is set after Chapter 77, A Friendly Game of Poker in _Roots and Anchors_

* * *

After telling Megan not to wait up for him, Steve tucked one of his old sketchpads under his arm and went to look for Grant. Megan had already picked up his uniform jacket from the chair where he'd left it, so he only had to gather his shield and new sketchbook as he made his way over to where the Sousa clan was sitting. It was difficult to think of Peggy having the last name Sousa. It was just another reminder of the decades he'd missed.

Grant was still sitting with his family, urging his mother to call it a night.

"Stop hovering, Grant. I swear, you're even worse than your father sometimes," Peggy snapped at him. The fatigue from the day had worn through the last of her reserves.

"You can't fault a son for worrying after his mother, Peg," Steve said, trying to diffuse the tension. "Besides, it's not like you've never pushed people to take care of themselves. I haven't forgotten the time you marched Colonel Philips to his tent with orders to get a solid four hours of sleep or you'd see to it that—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Steve. Let's leave Chester's dignity intact since he's not here to defend himself." Peggy's eyes flashed with their old fire as she stood up, leaning heavily on her daughter Caroline. "Unlike Chester, I recognize the value of sleep. I simply don't appreciate being treated like a fragile waif."

"I'll see if Stark can find the vita-ray machine then," Steve teased her gently as he nodded his understanding about her frustration. He'd never forgotten the experience of living with a chronic condition.

"Close your mouth, Caroline. I always told you he was a smartass."

Caroline smiled at Steve, clearly a bit embarrassed by her mother's comment. "I think you understated things a bit, Mom."

"Well, now you know."

"How can a comment about vita-rays possibly be funny?" Grant demanded.

Peggy shook her head at him. Steve smiled at the women but held back his laughter as he stood behind Grant and put a firm hand on his shoulder. "That's a long story, best told another time. Grant, I'd appreciate it if you'd come with me for a bit. I have something I want to show you."

Grant ignored him, clearly resenting the order framed as a request, but Steve waited patiently. No one at the table said a word, though Grant's wife Cynthia nodded, signaling that he should go with Steve. Finally, Grant sighed heavily, and stood up in a huff. Grudgingly, he followed Steve to the nearest elevator.

Jarvis had the elevator doors open and waiting as Steve lead Grant into the compartment. "Do you want to hit something or drink something?"

Grant gave him a look that didn't manage to hide his surprise. "Drink."

Steve nodded, "Rooftop penthouse, Jarvis," he said and stood silently as the elevator took them up. In the penthouse, Steve went behind the bar trusting Tony would have whatever Grant preferred. "What do you want?"

"Brandy."

Steve found a brand he liked and picked up two sniffers. "Ice?"

Grant shook his head and silently followed Steve outside to the terrace.

Steve could tell Grant's son was ill at ease and trying desperately to keep a tight rein on his emotions. After laying everything down on a table and leaning his shield against the table leg, Steve put more wood in the fire pit, started it burning, and sat down before he poured Grant a glass. "I can't get drunk, so don't make it into a contest," he said and handed Grant the glass. He poured himself a generous serving and put the bottle down reach of both of them. "You have a look in your eye I've seen in the mirror all too often. You can talk about it or not, but I figured you needed a break."

"What look?" Grant snapped.

Steve just raised his eyebrow, then reached for his sketchbook. The fire crackled and popped, overlaid on the sounds of traffic from the streets below. The night breeze rustled the leaves on the trees growing in two large planters nearby. Steve just pretended to ignore Peggy's son as he leaned back in his chair while he waited for Grant to crack. He had the skyline sketched out and was starting to fill in the details when Grant finally broke the silence.

"My wife Cynthia has had a lot of back pain lately and hasn't been feeling well. We finally got an answer from the docs yesterday morning. It's pancreatic cancer," Grant said as he stared into the fire.

Steve's hands stilled, though he didn't close the sketchbook. "How long does she have?"

"A few months. Six, tops." He finally pulled his gaze from the fire and looked sideways at Steve. "No questions about treatments?"

Steve shook his head. "I know more about cancer than I ever wanted to learn. Medicine has come a long way since my day, but…" He let his voice trail off. There was no need to state the obvious. Instead, he thought back over the evening. "I take it you haven't told anyone yet?"

Grant shook his head. "Mom's been looking forward to this weekend too much. We didn't want to spoil it." With that bitter admission, he drained his sniffer and poured himself another serving.

"That's not how it works. You need to tell her. Her mind's pretty clear today. Let her be your mom while she can. She can't fix the fact you're losing two of the most important women in your life, but she can share the pain with you. And as someone who lost a mother to consumption, I'm telling you to tell your kids tonight. At least then they'll know what you're all up against instead of wondering what's wrong. You can't protect them from what's coming, but you can help prepare them for it. Ma saw it time and time again working the wards… it's the uncertainty that wears you down the most. As awful as it was when we found out she was sick, it gave us time to talk about things we might otherwise have left unsaid." With that, he went silent.

He tried to avoid thinking too much about those days; the pain was still too raw. But there had been comfort to be had in those long afternoons at his mom's bedside, reading aloud to her while she tried to rest, sketching while she dozed, talking about her family back in Ireland and the father Steve had never known.

Greg kept swirling the brandy in his sniffer and watching how it changed colors in the firelight. "Ever since Mom got her diagnosis, Cynthia's been keeping me together." He sighed again. "I don't know how to do this."

Finally, Steve closed the sketchbook and set it down. "No one does. You just keep moving forward as best you can. There are days when trying not to lose too much ground is all I can manage. Other days are better. But you have your whole family to lean on. You can get through it together."

"I feel so helpless."

"Focus on what you can do. You went above and beyond making sure I got to see Peggy. Now you should spend this weekend with your family. Order food in or let us bring you stuff from the buffets. Send the youngsters down to hang out with the other kids. Building security will keep them out of trouble."

Grant slumped a bit in his seat. "You're not what I expected."

"Been reading too many comic books?"

"Lord no. Mom never let those in the house. She never talked about you much. Neither she nor Dad liked to talk about the war. But you were larger than life and a ghost in our house at the same time." He paused, took another sip of his brandy, and asked. "What did you want to show me?"

Knowing Grant needed time to regroup, Steve went along with the change in subject. "This." Steve picked up his old sketchbook from his days with the Howling Commands and quickly flipped through to find an image he'd drawn so he could try to forget. Holding the book open, he passed it to Grant. "Is this you father?"

Grant gaped at the drawing and looked back at Steve. "You met him?"

Steve nodded, looking out at the skyline. "I'm the one who took his leg off." He swallowed the rest of his brandy in one long pull, wishing desperately the alcohol would do something to blunt the memories.

Grant swore as the color drained from his face as Steve's words finally registered.

Steve looked at him silently.

"When I was in high school, I once asked Mom about you and Dad. It was an insensitive jerk question about Dad being her second choice."

Steve winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah, not one of my better moments. I'd just been dumped and was taking out all the angst on Mom. She just smiled and said it wasn't like that, that you'd made sure she knew she and Dad had your blessing in the clearest way possible."

Steve let out a pained laugh. "It always comes back to that damned shield." He set his sniffer down and picked up the shield, standing it on edge in front of his feet, rolling it side to side between his fingers as he talked. "Did Peggy ever tell you about the time she shot at me?"

"No." Grant was wide eyed.

"She was hopping mad…" Steve began, telling him the story, a smile flitting across his face as he remembered. Looking back at the shield, he picked up the narrative. "People tend to forget this is a weapon, too," he said as he ran his fingers along the beveled edge, then rolled it over to Grant. "It's not a knife, but with enough force behind it—"

"You could cut someone in half," Grant finished softly.

Steve nodded. "Or take off a limb." With that, he got up, walked to the terrace railing, and looked out over the city. "Seventeen men. Ma was a nurse." He looked down at his hands and shook his head. "I'm getting ahead of myself. It was a brutal winter that year. Guess it would have been late January of '45. Morita and Gabe overheard some radio chatter about a battalion pinned down behind the German lines. No one was doing anything about it. They told the others… the decision was unanimous before any of the Howlers told me. After being Hydra's prisoners, they were a bit… sensitive to the idea of letting any of our troops down, lousy odds of success be damned. We informed Colonel Philips on our way out of camp. He knew better than to try and stop us since we'd have gone anyway.

"It was bitterly cold, but the smell of the camp was overpowering. I'll never forget it. The conditions they'd been living in, trying to survive without supplies or reinforcements. The men were thawing snow for drinking water. The ground was frozen solid, digging new latrines was impossible." Steve shuddered at the memory and swallowed hard. "They'd used up their medical supplies and lost their most experienced medics in the fighting. Some of them were in bad shape. Infection, gangrene, starvation… the only hope we had of saving those seventeen was amputation. Even then, it was a gamble. May as well have been back in the battlefields of the Civil War. But my ma was a nurse and I'd had cleanliness drilled into me before I could walk. We had to make do. Between each man, I cleaned the shield with boiled water and then I'd heat it in a fire to try to get rid of what any germs the water couldn't. It took half a day. Buck and Dum Dum held 'em down. Gabe and Morita tended 'em after, and Monty and Frenchie prepped the next one, getting their permission, prepping bandages and tourniquets. The only booze we had, we used to dose them before hand. Not that it did much good."

"Whiskey."

Steve nodded at Grant's softly spoken word.

"Dad hated whiskey. We never had it in the house though I know Mom likes it." Grant rubbed his face with his hand and got up to join Steve at the railing. "I remember one time, there was a guy from S.H.I.E.L.D. who came over, and he ragged on Dad about it something fierce. Said with all the other great liquor he had on the shelf, it was a crime not to have a bottle of whiskey in there, too. He was just trying to tease, didn't mean anything much by it, but Dad got all tense. Said he'd left his taste for whiskey in Europe, but that was okay since the rest of him got to come home. I never knew… Why didn't they ever say anything?"

"It's not a bedtime story fit for children and Peggy would never have stood for sanitizing the truth out of the tale. We had our fill of that during the war when the film crews came in for their propaganda shots. The only good part of filming was that we were all guaranteed a shower before hand. Sometimes, the water was warm." Steve bowed his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drop all this on you. I just wondered if your father was the same Daniel Sousa."

"You never checked?"

Steve shook his head. "I made it a point not to find out. The only way I was able to keep going during the war was to pretend everyone we ferried to safety got a happy ending. After…" He took a deep breath. "It was still the best way forward. When Peggy used your middle name, though, I got curious. You look enough like him it seemed possible." He sighed again, tracing the stonework with his fingers. "It's still hard to believe he lived decades when it was barely three years ago. I wonder if I'll ever get used to that."

"Seeing Mom again had to be a shock," Grant offered tentatively.

"A good one, though. I learned so much from her in the short time I knew her. She was the backbone of the Howling Commandos. I'm really glad she lived a life worthy of her potential. Even Howard respected her, and he didn't respect many people, much less women. When Peggy told him something, he listened."

"The drawing… you used the shield as a sled?"

Steve sighed, nodded, and went back to his chair. "Bucky's idea." Lifting shield into his lap, he pointed to the picture, where a mesh of some sort supported Daniel's weight as he sat in the curve of the shield, leaning into the cloth, while a bundled figure, rifle slung over his shoulder, pulled him through the snow. "Bucky worked down on the docks, got to know a lot of sailors. He made friends easily and was always picking up new skills. Somewhere along the line, one of them taught Bucky a bunch of knots. The snow was deep and a lot of the men weren't up to hiking for one reason or another. We scavenged what we could to build travois and someone came up for a way to put runners of a sort on the poles so they were easier to pull. Daniel was in such bad shape… Bucky cut up his own blanket to make a mesh of sorts he connected through the straps of my shield. It kept Daniel from being jostled too much as Bucky pulled him."

"From what little Mom said about you, I'm surprised you let anyone else do that."

Steve ducked his head a bit, trying to hide his embarrassment behind his glass. "I was out in front, breaking a trail."

Grant laughed. "Of course you were," he said and picked up the sketchbook reverently. "Thank you, not just for saving him, but for telling me." His fingers ran over the edge of the page, carefully avoiding smudging the drawing, but Steve could tell that Grant itched to touch his father's face. "It's hard to imagine him so young, with his whole life ahead of him. He must have been terrified when he was injured like he was."

"He was terrified from the day he shipped out, if not before," Steve corrected. "It's always there, lurking in the shadows. Any soldier who tells you otherwise is either lying or a damned fool. Possibly both."

Feeling Grant's eyes on him, he pointed to the book. "Take that with you and show your family, if you want. Just don't let your grandkids look at the other pages. I tend to process things by drawing them, and war is a gory affair. There are images in there no child should see."

"Captain,"

"Steve," he corrected.

Grant nodded. "Steve, thank you. As strange as it may sound, this has helped." He looked again at the book in his hands and continued, "Knowing Dad was scared and kept going…. it helps."

"I'm glad. Now go hug your wife and love her while you can."

Grant stood up, hearing the gentle dismissal, and started to say something, then paused, rethinking. Finally, he said, "I'll see you tomorrow," and went indoors to join his family.

Alone on the rooftop, Steve poured himself another glass of brandy and blinked back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. He was startled from his reverie by the thump of someone landing on the rooftop nearby. Steve whipped his head around as he reached for his shield.

"Peace, Brother," Thor said, holding his hands up to show he was unarmed. "I apologize for eavesdropping. I was sitting on the ledge above, lost in my own thoughts, when you and Grant came out onto the terrace. I dared not disturb your sensitive conversation by announcing my presence. Even departing with Mjölnir's aid would have been a disruption. I will not speak of what I heard; This is my oath to you."

Steve nodded, unsure of what he could say without breaking down completely. Tonight had stirred up too many memories which would certainly incite an onslaught of nightmares if he dared to let himself sleep.

Thor added wood to the fire and sat down in the chair Grant had abandoned before pouring himself some brandy.

"Grant used that glass."

"I mind that not." Thor drank it down and grimaced slightly. "The flavor is pleasing, but it lacks soul." From a pocket of his vest, he pulled out a flask and poured himself a serving before adding some to Steve's empty glass. "See how you like this, but have a care, as it is not meant for mortal men."

Steve took a cautious sip and smiled as the ale sent a pleasant burn down his throat and made his insides grow warm. "I'd almost forgotten this feeling," he said as he took another sip.

"Perhaps it will help file the sharp edges off of this most joyous and difficult of days," Thor said kindly as he made himself comfortable.

"I just want to go home," Steve confessed softly. "I miss them all so much, and they're _gone_." The Asgardian ale shredded the last of his control and tears began to run down his cheeks, though Thor made no mention of them.

"You missed much and were grieved for by many. It is only fitting you would grieve that lost time with them, too. Would you honor me with stories of your past? I believe you spoke of your mother being a healer."

Steve nodded. "She was a nurse. Her name was Sarah. It was her skill that kept me alive when I was young." As he talked, his eyes grew heavy and he felt himself drifting off. A part of him noticed Thor taking the sniffer from his hand, and then he was sound asleep, pressed against Bucky in his tiny bed in his apartment while his mother sat darning socks by candlelight.

* * *

Steve woke to the sound of Greg and Thor talking softly.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Greg teased when Steve stretched cautiously and sat up. "I brought breakfast," he added, gesturing to the cart of food Jarvis had ordered. Thor and Greg were already helping themselves to the bagels and fresh fruit.

"What time is it?" Megan mumbled sleepily as she yawned and opened her eyes.

"Six thirty."

"Why didn't you block the sun, Thor? It's too early to be awake. Next time, bring in some really dark storm clouds or something."

Thor laughed. "I apologize for my failings, Lady Megan. I trust you rested well?"

Megan nodded and reached for the teapot. Jarvis knew her well. "Very well, thank you."

"You're not the only one," Steve said as he fixed himself a plate. "I haven't slept that well in… a very long time. That was powerful ale."

Steve noticed that Megan looked at Thor, asking for permission of some sort, which he gave with a careful nod.

"It is no great secret you must keep from the son of John, Lady Megan," Thor said gently. "My friend, it was not the ale that aided your slumber. Rather, it was my humble honor to guard your sleep from troubling dreams this past night. I sought your beloved's permission on your behalf after you succumbed to your exhaustion. If we acted out of turn, I apologize. I merely sought to provide what comfort I could in your time of need." With that, he held up Megan's tablet. "Friend Jarvis was kind enough to suggest some accurate reading about your history. Though we have fought as brothers before and I believed I had the measure of your courage, I have learned I vastly underestimated you."

Steve didn't know what to say to that.

Greg must have sensed his discomfiture, because he immediately changed the subject. "Speaking of Jarvis, he introduced himself to me this morning,"

"So you have met the voice in the ceiling?" Thor beamed, patting Greg across the back affectionately. "There are very few guests to the tower he greets so openly."

"That was after the refrigerator displayed a text message on the door explaining you were asleep on the roof and breakfast was ready to be delivered. I have no idea what Kathy is going to say about all this."

"She seemed rather pleased to find there is someone besides Megan keeping watch over Captain Rogers, given his skill at getting into trouble," Jarvis chimed in helpfully.

"I do not!" Steve protested. Three pairs of eyes dared him to argue further.

"Let me rephrase that, Captain. You have a talent for being in the right place to get injured all too often," Jarvis teased.

Megan laughed softly as she leaned against Steve and sipped her tea. "Until you've gone six months without a visit to medical, no one is going to believe Jarvis is wrong."

Greg laughed. "The lad can't even make it three months."

"I shall rejoin you later in the day, my friends," Thor said, standing up and taking his cloak back when Steve held it out to him.

"I'm going to go get a shower and more caffeine in me. You boys have fun admiring the sun," Megan added. "I'll get the pillows if you bring the blankets later." She stuffed one pillow under her arm, held the other by the case, and padded off towards the elevator while still sipping her tea.

Steve watched them both go. "Did Thor just tell me he kept me from having nightmares last night?"

"I think that was the message underneath all that formal talk," Greg said, helping himself to an apple muffin. "You have a very strange life, Steve."

"You think so?"

"I know so. But you also have some very good friends. I was worried about you last night, but this morning you look good. Do you think you're up for all that Megan has planned today?"

"I have no idea what the plans are, but I'm okay. Better than Grant, actually." Steve grew somber. "He and his wife are dealing with some difficult news. Jarvis, are the Sousa grandkids awake yet?"

"Yes, Steve, much to the dismay of their parents."

"Will you ask if I can take the kids swimming? Since the banquet kitchen is open, if I can get a cart like this one with some breakfast items for them, I'd appreciate it." Steve turned to Greg and added, "Invite Megan's nephews, too, as soon as they're up. They'll enjoy having other kids their age to play with."

"Certainly, sir. The breakfast cart will be delivered to the pool area shortly. Caroline extends her gratitude. Do you wish to escort them yourself?"

"I'd rather not give the kids any ideas about testing your skills, Jarvis." Steve said. "And be careful about talking too much around Keith and Christopher. Their parents can't be trusted with secrets, for reasons that are not their fault."

There was true warmth in Jarvis' voice as he replied, "Megan already warned me, Steve, but I appreciate your concern."

"Don't you get bored running the building?" Greg asked, looking towards the speaker that had projected Jarvis' voice.

Steve couldn't hold back his laughter. "Bored? With Tony Stark around?"

"Steve is correct, Greg. Working with Sir is many things, but boring is not an adjective I would ever use."

Greg smiled sheepishly. "I stand corrected, then. Will you ask Kathy if she wants to join us at the pool?"

A moment later, Jarvis had her reply. "She says to tell you that as delightful as she finds your company, she isn't crazy enough to go swimming at this hour of the night unless you two are alone."

"I'll keep that in mind, Jarvis." With that, Greg stood up and put a warm hand on Steve's shoulder. "Let's go wrangle a bunch of kids."


	7. Caroline

This is set immediately after Chapter 78, "Sketchbook Show and Tell" in _Roots and Anchors._

* * *

"Trip, it's so good to see you again," Peggy said as she hugged him. "You look well."

Steve smiled to himself as he watched the pair, the fondness they felt for each other evident to everyone.

"I'm working my dream job, Aunt Peggy. I couldn't be happier," Trip said.

"I assume you're filling Steve in on Gabe's life after the war?"

"Actually, I've been finding out what a prankster Gramps was. You held back the good stories when we were growing up."

Peggy smiled and sat back down, her gaze landing on Steve for just a moment. "I hardly think your parents would have approved of me corrupting you too soon. Will you be a dear and fetch me some more water?"

After Trip left to do her bidding, Peggy looked around as if she were looking for someone. "Grant, where did your father wander off to? I wanted to introduce him to Steve."

Steve felt like he'd been punched in the gut and clenched his fists at his sides.

Grant answered smoothly, "He got called in to work at the last minute, remember? They've been short staffed lately with four agents out with food poisoning."

Peggy frowned, then nodded. "Drat my memory."

"Don't worry about it, Peggy," Steve forced himself to say, mimicking Grant's matter of fact tone. "I'm sure Daniel and I will be able to chat on the phone as soon as he's free to call. I understand the importance of his work."

"Lady Margaret, I see that my warrior brother is trying to monopolize you time once again," Thor said, appearing at Steve's elbow. "He has been remiss in introducing us. My name is Thor. Did he ever tell you the story of our first meeting?"

Peggy shook her head and Thor pulled out a chair to sit near her. "Steven, step outside and take some time to collect your thoughts," Thor said softly before taking Peggy's hands in his and giving her his full attention. "It was during the time my brother Loki visited Midgard and summoned an army of Chiutari fighters…"

Steve took the opportunity Thor gave him to slip away from Peggy and beeline for the nearest exit. "Jarvis, rooftop terrace, please," he asked in a shaky voice. He'd _known_ Peggy had memory problems. She'd warned him herself that it was going to happen. Seeing it first hand was a different matter entirely.

* * *

Steve leaned heavily on the stone wall as he looked out at the city, blurred as it was by his tears. In one hand, he clutched Bucky's dog tags, trying his best to be grateful that Peggy was at least alive, if not well. In his other hand he held his compass, his thumb tracing the lines of the curved case. He'd known she'd lived through the decades he'd been frozen in the ice, but it was different to see the passage of time with his own eyes. Even the skyline, blurry as it now was, had changed from the one that he remembered. Not that he had many chances to view it from this angle. Poor Brooklyn boys didn't spend much time atop Manhattan skyscrapers.

He choked on a sob and bowed his head. He needed to pull himself together and get back to the party. The Peggy he had known would have scolded him for how he was behaving.

"It doesn't get any easier, but at least it stops being a surprise," Caroline said as she came out onto the terrace. "They call Alzheimer's the long goodbye," she added as she joined him at the wall. Leaning on her forearms, she glanced down at his left hand, which was closest to her, and saw him holding the compass in his fingers. "Did Mom ever tell you how she found out about you having her picture in that?"

Steve shook his head, unable to look Caroline in the eye. Even brushing away his tears was an effort that was beyond him. Surely, though, she hadn't expected to find him standing out here smiling.

"She acted like she'd been mortified, but I know she was pleased. She'd been sitting next to Colonel Philips while a bunch of propaganda movies were being previewed for approval. The cameraman had apparently noticed the picture and zoomed in on it. Mom said Colonel Philips gave her a look that would have curdled fresh milk."

Steve huffed in amusement as he handed the compass to Caroline so she could see it for herself. "I was on the receiving end of that look on occasion. Bucky and I figured he practiced it in front of the mirror."

Caroline studied it, then carefully closed the case before passing it back to Steve. Her fingers were warm as she closed his hand around the metal case. "To me, he was just Uncle Chester. I think he must have mellowed once he left the service. I know he was proud of you. Even as young as I was, it was obvious how highly he regarded you. Mom told me once that your death broke something in him."

"He was a good man." Sighing, Steve put his compass back in his pocket. "The last time I saw Peggy, right before I jumped aboard the _Valkyrie_ , she was so _alive_. Now, she's fading away."

"There are times I pray she'll get pneumonia or die of a heart attack in her sleep before she's so far gone she forgets who I am," Caroline confessed, her voice soft and filled with pain. "I know that day is coming. When she's tired, she already mistakes Grant for Dad and Tony for Uncle Howard." Caroline wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Last night, Mom said she'd give up her remaining days in an instant if it meant Cynthia could have that time."

"She'd do it, too, if she could."

"I know. That's who she is." She nudged Steve with her shoulder. "By the way, thanks for kicking my dumb brother in the butt and making him come clean last night."

He nodded once. "It was just a nudge. You should be with him."

"I don't think Cynthia or Grant would much appreciate extra company right now, given what they're up to at the moment." She smiled as she grinned to herself. "Their game of footsie over breakfast this morning was hardly subtle. When I left them just now, they'd convinced Mom she'd benefit from a nap but I don't think she was the one who was intent on getting into bed."

Steve laughed. "Jacques would approve."

"Uncle Timothy would probably bellow a toast."

"Did he ever give up wearing a bowler hat?"

"Are you kidding me? If it weren't for him taking it off indoors, I'd have sworn it was surgically attached."

"I miss them."

"They missed you. You were never forgotten. We Howler kids all grew up hearing stories about what they thought you and Uncle Bucky would have thought about the current topic of the day. Mom made a point of checking in on Rebecca now and then. They lived their lives, in part because they felt they owed it to the two of you to keep going and make sure your sacrifices weren't in vain."

Steve nodded. "I'm glad for that, I am. With so many reminders everywhere, I'm never really able to forget how much time I lost. Seeing her, more than anything else, makes the passage of time more real somehow."

Caroline put her hand on his forearm. "This has to be harder on you than any of us can imagine. At least Rip Van Winkle had his children to welcome him home." She huffed slightly, amusement in her voice. "In another life, you'd have been my father and yet you're younger than either of my boys."

Steve shook his head. "It's not that. I already made my peace with the road not taken. Megan's my future and I wouldn't trade that for anything. But when I think of who Peggy was, how she lent her strength of all of us… No one who knew her back then would have been a bit surprised she was the first director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Her mind was like a steel trap… nothing got past her. And now? She can't even remember that her husband is dead. It hurts to see that change. I know you've been dealing with it, so it's not like I'm discovering anything new…" He bowed his head as his voice trailed off. "I guess it caught me off guard."

"I'm not surprised. The change is more abrupt for you than anyone else. The rest of us have watched her grow older and seen her transition into retirement and grand parenting. Even so, it was a kick to the stomach to realize she's getting _old_. She was always my hero, and I let myself believe she was invincible. It's been hard to come to terms with that." Caroline straightened up. "Enough with the moping," she said, tugging on Steve's arm so he'd follow her to the chairs nearby. Sitting down, she waited until he was seated before she said, "Tell me about Megan. How did you meet her? And I'm asking for more than what you told the press."

Steve rubbed the back on his neck, feeling a bit sheepish. "I was eating lunch in the S.H.I.E.L.D. cafeteria, by myself as usual. Out of nowhere, she showed up and asked if she could join me. Next thing I know, she's making fun of the cafeteria food and telling me about a horrible PowerPoint presentation HR was showing new hires to keep them from bugging me for autographs. And then she admitted she was a new hire, a shy introvert, and coping with her first cafeteria lunch by inviting herself to dine with someone who looked more miserable than she felt."

Caroline laughed, clearly having interacted enough with Megan to imagine how that scene had played out.

"Next thing I know, we're swapping books to read and she's teaching me to cook without boiling all the flavor out of food." Steve smiled to himself, not even bothering to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "Megan got me to start living again. Before… I'd been coasting and thinking I was doing okay. She saw right through that, past the uniform and the press, and offered me her friendship. Her mom and stepdad… it's like I have parents again. I never even knew my father, but Greg's shown me what Dad and I could have been like if he'd come home from the war."

He was a bit stunned at how open he was being with Caroline Maybe it was her similarity to Peggy. They both had a way of getting him to open up when he least expected it. Still, it unnerved him. "Your mom said you were in the army for a time," he said, changing the subject away from himself.

"That's dad's fault. I never knew the details until last night, but a part of me always thought he might have kept his leg if he'd had better care sooner. I wanted to give someone else the chance I thought my dad never had."

"He didn't."

"But if not for you and your team, he would have died, so I was a bit off the mark. So I became a surgeon and joined the army. I was even deployed in Vietnam, but I wanted to be at the front, working in the golden hour. Instead, I was kept back and protected due to my gender. Worse, I was disillusioned by the way the fighting was managed."

"From what I've read, it was a real mess."

"Yeah, it was even more of a mess than the books admit. Anyway, I got tired of fighting for equal treatment and tired of fighting in a system that didn't value its soldiers. So despite my determination to forge my own path, I ended up at S.H.I.E.L.D." She ducked her head shyly. "Mom was right that it was a better fit for me. My deployments were shorter. I had lots of chances to do field medicine in third world countries where even a simple vaccine changed a life. I loved it, and I was home enough that I was still able to raise my boys. My husband Robert got almost as much grief as my dad did about playing second fiddle to an ambitious wife. But he's never resented my career, only supported me. He told me once that the world would be a better place if we let people follow their passions, not box them into gender roles. He's a homebody, through and through."

"What does he do?"

"He's an author and until he retired, he was also a high school history teacher. Those poor students used to lament how he was so picky about their essays and term papers. Robert double majored in history and English. He had no patience for students who were sloppy about their writing. Now, of course, he writes full time. I like to tease him that he really married me to get access to my parents."

"He writes about World War Two?" Steve asked, already guessing the answer from Caroline's amused expression.

"In the form of historical fiction. Most of his books are directed at young adults and use fiction to educate them about that period of history. But he's always been interested in understanding the effect the Howling Commandos had on the overall war effort." She nodded at Steve's expression. "Ironic, I know. It took him a long time, but he finally wore Mom and the others down and got them to agree to give him the real stories. The deal was that nothing would be published until Mom and all of the Howlers were dead. He's been working on that for years, trying to interview everyone, then research how their memories and unclassified reports overlap with the rest of the war's progress. With Mom's health failing, he put it together into a cohesive narrative that weaves the Howlers' story into the larger tapestry of the war effort. Everything is meticulously referenced. He was getting ready to have his agent shop the manuscript around to prospective publishers when you showed up in New York."

Steve winced, appreciating what his miraculous return from the dead meant to Robert's promise.

"It's annoyed him to no end to realize he'll probably never get to publish that book now, but he's also desperate to get the facts straight and wants you to look at the manuscript for his own peace of mind. He's been dithering for weeks about approaching you about it."

"I'd love to read it. Actually, Megan's been insisting I need to write a memoir of sorts, using my sketchbooks, telling more of the personal stories I remember. She mentioned it to Michiko yesterday and now they're both riding me about it. I'm not a writer and Megan doesn't have the time, especially with her new job at S.H.I.E.L.D. Do you think that's something Robert would be interested in helping me with?"

"We may have to negotiate custody and visitation privileges so I get to see him on occasion."

"I can work with that." He didn't add that it might provide him a welcome distraction on the nights when sleep was elusive or interrupted by nightmares.

"Just from what you shared this morning, I promise that you'll break several publishing records. So you need to think about what you'll want to do with the profits."

"Everything can go straight to the fund set up in my parents' names."

"The Howlers would approve of what you're doing for those kids, Uncle Steve. Damnit," she muttered and hid her face in her hand. "I knew that was going to happen."

"I don't mind. Michiko already told me. I'm glad the Howlers stayed a family even when the fighting was done. It helps, knowing that."

Caroline nodded. "Are you ready to head back in? I'll introduce you to Robert. He's been spending most of his time with the veterans, trying to get more stories out of them, I think."

Steve was surprised to realize he was actually feeling alright. Caroline had talked him down from the ledge. Just like Peggy used to do in another life. "You're a lot like your mother, and there's no higher complement than that," he said as he stood up. "Thank you." _For understanding. For caring. For reaching out when I needed you._ He hoped everything he was leaving unsaid came through in his expression.

Caroline just smiled knowingly and took the hand he offered to help her to her feet. "Saturday evenings are off limits. Ever since Kevin was born, Saturday nights have been date night."

"I promise I won't take any calls from Robert on Saturday evenings."

"Don't give him your cell phone number unless you like early morning conversations."

"I'm usually out running before the sun comes up so he'll have to leave a voice mail. I'll get back to him after work."

Her eyebrow shot up as they stepped into the elevator. "You're going to make him wait all day?"

"Even longer if I'm out on a mission." He shrugged with feigned helplessness.

The corner of Caroline's mouth turned up slightly. "He's going to hate you."

"He may be grumpy, but at least you'll get to see him."

"I can work with that."

"Peggy was always a master at managing the men around her, so you learned from the best."

* * *

Many thanks to H., for excellent editing.


	8. Lonely and alone

This is set the Monday after BJ's passing in chapter 23, placing it out of order with the other Ballast chapters to this point. Sorry about that!

* * *

He closed the bedroom door and allowed himself one long moment of longing before he forced himself to walk to the kitchen and fix himself some food. Frustrated by the sling, he tossed it on the counter and ignored the pain in his arm as he used both hands to prepare a huge vegetable and cheese omelet along with some toast. All he wanted to do was throw Megan back in his car and drive them both back to Greg and Kathy's house.

For nearly forty-eight hours, he'd been Steve Rogers, artist, boyfriend and army vet. His life as Captain America had been an afterthought or a footnote. Megan had been the first person in this horrifying new life to see him as a person and he'd latched on to that with the desperation of a drowning victim. It scared him because he knew it wasn't healthy. He didn't want to drag Megan down with him.

And yet….

He sighed to himself as he plated his food and sat down at the bar after putting some music on in the background. It was so nice to have someone else in the apartment. He wasn't used to living alone. He didn't think he would ever be used to it. Just knowing there was another person sleeping in the next room gave him great comfort. He wanted to keep her here. He had no right to want that.

On the other hand, she was strong in her own right. It reminded him of his own mother and Peggy, the way she had a core of steel encased inside layers of compassion and intelligence. Was he really dragging her down if she chose this path freely?

Disgusted with himself for the way he kept thinking in circles, he decided to set aside the thoughts and take action. She needed fresh clothes that were appropriate for work. He's go to her apartment and collect what he thought she'd need.

After he cleaned up the kitchen, he left a note for her on the counter and grabbed the keys to his motorcycle and slipped the keyring from her purse. Maybe a ride would help clear his head.

After he let himself in, Steve looked around Megan apartment, taking it in more than assessing what Megan needed to be comfortable. She was frugal. He loved that about her. She had inquired about his budget before taking him shopping, not because she was judging him, but because she wasn't. She didn't want to assume or push him beyond his comfort zone. Maybe that was the moment he'd first fallen for her, when he realized she didn't assume anything about him.

Her apartment demonstrated the frugal approach to life he admired about her. She wasn't poor. Though small, this apartment had reliable heat and hot water, the windows locked, and nothing was in disrepair. This wasn't a home lived in out of desperation, nor was it extravagant. It was exactly what Megan needed to live comfortably, except for the fold out sofa bed. If there was one thing he'd learned to appreciate about modern life, it was the comfort of a firm, lump-free bed covered with warm blankets. The fold out sofa Megan slept on was neither firm nor lump free.

He walked around the small space, trying to decide where to start, when he spotted a picture of her family. Picking up the frame, he held it with new reverence. It had been taken at Christmas, all of them posed together front of the tree. Andrew was crying and squirming in Stephanie's arms. Greg had his arm around Kathy. Megan was kneeling beside Keith and had him enveloped in a hug. They looked happy… for the most part. He saw the subtle signs of stress on Megan's face as she looked at the camera. Based on the ages of the boys, this had been taken last Christmas, right after Megan had ended her relationship with Randy and charted a new life. He wondered what had driven the two apart. Megan loved with her whole being and wouldn't walk away lightly.

The love they felt for each other in was so palpable in the picture and he missed that feeling so desperately. He managed to put the picture back in place before sinking to the floor and indulging in a good cry.

He was so tired of being alone. He knew it was selfish of him to cling so hard to what Megan and her family were offering, but he wasn't suited to the solitary life. He needed people around him that cared. He had never had a large circle of support, just his mother and Bucky. It wasn't until he'd become invisible to everyone that he realized just how much their steadfast support had meant.

Steve wrapped his arms around his knees as he wept. He envied B.J. in a way that was selfish and twisted. That little boy had both his parents from the day he was born. If Steve were on his deathbed, who would sit at his side?

Eventually, the flood of tears stopped and he stumbled to his feet, clearing his face and blowing his nose with the tissues Megan had on a side table. He had to stop doing this. Bucky and Ma were gone. He just had to accept that and let them go.

His forearm ached. He'd been doing too much with it today. During the war, he'd learned to work through the pain of healing bones and gunshot wounds, though Bucky hovered as bad as he ever did.

Clothing. He needed to focus on packing Megan's clothing, not the memory of the man who was brother in all but blood. Wrenching his thoughts back to his self-assigned mission, he opened her top dresser drawer and started with selecting underwear. Despite what Megan seemed to think, he wasn't bothered by handling undergarments. He had helped his mother with laundry for years. Even on tour, he'd helped plenty of the women with mending clothes, no matter the nature of the apparel. His own had all been newly purchased after his transformation and not yet in need of his skill with a needle.

* * *

When he got back to his apartment, Megan was still sleeping. Something settled inside him as he gazed at her supine figure in his bed. The level of trust she gifted him with was humbling. His apartment felt less like barracks and more like a home when she was there. Her purse lay on the table. Her shirts were intermixed with his where she'd laid them across the chair backs to prevent wrinkling. They were small things in the larger scheme, but significant to him. They spoke of caring about waking him and a comfort with being in his space.

Peggy had said she had to respect Bucky's choices. He wanted to do that with Megan, but as tightly as he wanted to cling to her, would she really have that freedom? Or would she stay because she thought it was in his best interests? She saw though his Captain America facade too easily, so there was no hiding his pain from her perceptive gaze.

Worst of all, there was no one he could talk to about this, no friend he could turn to for advice and guidance. He was alone with his demons.

Exhausted and undecided how to handle the situation, he stuffed his feelings down and let himself slide into bed beside her. For whatever time had left with her at his side, he was determined to enjoy it. At least when it was over, he'd have the memories to cling to at night as he lay alone in his bed.


	9. Takira

This is set the Sunday evening during the reunion weekend and follows the chapter "All Things End," just after everyone has retired for the night.

* * *

Once Megan was asleep, Steve slipped out of bed and padded to the darkened living room of his apartment. "Jarvis, did you have any luck getting some information about the person who sold the story?"

"You underestimate me, Steve. Luck was not necessary. I've sent the results to your tablet."

Steve nodded once as he sat down on the couch to read. He whistled softly when he saw the balance in her checking account was thirty-seven cents. "Setting aside the numerous laws you broke finding this all out…this is even worse than I feared. "

"Indeed. The entire situation is unfortunate. I might add, however, that the laws you refer to were written by humans to apply to other humans."

Steve froze for a moment, then slowly looked toward the nearest camera. "You're exploiting a loophole. Technically, since I asked, I'm the one responsible, and that loophole doesn't apply to me."

"Yet I have the power to disregard any and all of your requests, making the responsibility for my actions solely my own."

Steve slumped back in his chair a bit, curious about what else Jarvis might say.

"I am somewhat surprised you are troubled by this, given your own history."

"I'm not troubled at all. I'm just reflecting on what terrible examples Tony and I are when it comes to the rule of law." Steve shook his head, mostly to himself. It was so easy to ask Jarvis for information and not wonder or worry about how Jarvis got them the answers. He'd need to think about that more later, maybe when he could actually trust society to work the way it was supposed to. "What's her employment history?"

"Takira Brown has worked at the same hotel since she turned eighteen. She and her late husband had two children together. Sophia is ten years old and her brother Ethan is eight. Sophia, is currently a patient of Sloan Kettering Medical Center. Her lower right leg was amputated late last week after she was diagnosed with primary bone sarcoma in her right tibia. She is expected to make a full recovery once her treatment is complete."

"What's sort of medical insurance does her mom have?"

"I'll get to that in a moment. Takira filed a protection from abuse order against her husband four years ago, which he appears to have respected, insofar as I see no police reports form Takira regarding the matter. He died under questionable circumstances two years ago."

"Is there any good news?"

"The hospital is working to connect Takira with various agencies to ensure Sophia receives a quality prosthetic that will be upgraded as she grows to adulthood."

"What's the insurance situation overall?"

"Inadequate, especially considering the payments required to continue insurance coverage now that Takira is no longer employed."

"So, we have a single mom who's survived domestic abuse trying to make ends meet while her daughter is fighting for her life. She gets behind on the rent, fears eviction, has no safety net, and sees the memory book in a hotel room. It's not a scandal that will hurt anyone, but if she calls the tabloids who have probably reached out to her in the past, she figures she can at least get the rent paid. Except she got caught and now has no job, increased medical costs, and only a few more weeks in her home."

"It seems to be a reasonable scenario that fits with the facts we know."

"Jarvis, if I pay her past-due rent tonight, will that stop her landlord from initiating eviction proceedings?"

"Probably. Shall I have a courier deliver a money order?"

"If you can arrange it, I'd appreciate it. Take the money out of my account. And pay the rent for the next six months while you're at it. I want to make sure their housing situation is stabilized while I figure out what else I can do. Actually, can you move five thousand into her checking account? She might have other late bills we don't know about."

"I'll do so at once."

Steve closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as memories of his own sickly youth flooded his mind. "Is anyone in the kitchen still awake?"

"Of course. Cleaning up after a large event takes time."

He nodded to himself. "Ask them to pack three heated meals to go. I'd bet my last dollar that Takira is eating out of vending machines. If someone can drop me off at the hospital, I'd appreciate it."

* * *

After promising Happy he'd call him when he was ready to go back to the tower, Steve slung his shield over one arm, then took the stack of food from Stark's most trusted body guard and headed inside the main doors of the Sloan Kettering Medical Center.

"Sir, visiting hours are over," the guard informed him from his spot near the metal detectors. Steve wondered what his mother would have thought about the need for such a device inside a hospital.

"I understand. But I also know that there's a time for bending the rules and this is one of those times. I'm here to visit Sophia Brown and speak to her mother Takira. They've had a bit of a rough day." He gave the guard his best Captain America smile and stepped through the scanner. "Are we agreed that I can take dinner up to the ladies before it gets cold?"

The guard's brow furrowed. "The shield…."

"That's the nature of vibranium, son." He held up the food again.

"Right, of course. Do you need me to look up the room number?"

"Already have it. Have a good night."

* * *

"Ms. Brown?" Steve asked respectfully as he stepped into Sophia's room. Sophia was sitting up in bed, using the bed table to hold her paper as she drew a picture. Takira was slumped in the chair at her daughter's bedside, a garment in her lap. The basket of supplies at her feet spoke of mending, though Takira's hands were idle.

Sophia gasped as she recognized Steve. "Captain America?"

Takira stiffened, then slowly turned her tear streaked face towards him.

"Hi." He lifted his hands to draw attention to the takeout containers and smiled. "I brought dinner. Even when hospital food is good, there's a rule that you're not allowed to like it."

"What are you doing here, Captain America?" Sophia had none of her mother's hesitation. She had her pencil stashed in the tray drawer and her papers moved to under her pillow before Steve could get to her bed. "Is that your shield?"

"It sure is. I heard your mom was having a bit of a rough day and figured I'd stop by and see if I can help."

Takira's body language said she wanted to sink into the floor. Steve ignored her and continued. "It's just boring grown-up stuff, Sophia, and nothing you need to worry about. Mind if I put the shield on your bed? Go ahead and hold it if you want. We'll only get in trouble if we start tossing it around"

He set the stack of take-out boxes on the tray and started opening the containers. "Do you like pasta? Or do you want beef pot roast? Silverware and napkins are in that bag. Pick what you want, Sophia. I'll eat whatever meal your mom doesn't want." He looked at the food again and faked surprise. "I forgot to bring drinks. You both okay with water?" Sophia nodded. "Ms. Brown, if you'll show me where the beverage kiosk is, we can bring drinks back here for all of us."

"Of course." She stood up stiffly, placed the mending her basket, and gave her daughter a fond look before turning to Steve without making eye contact. "This way."

They walked down the hall in silence. Steve following Takira with watchful eyes. She took the first plastic cup from the stack and was unable to quell the shaking of her hands. Steve covered her hand with his own. "I'm not mad," he told her softly. "I know what desperation looks like. Your rent's all caught up and there's a cushion in your bank account. We can talk details later, but it's going to be okay."

Takira's tenuous hold on her composure disintegrated and she covered her mouth with her hands, sobbing quietly. When Steve touched her shoulder, she fell into his offered hug. "Shh. It's okay."

"Why?"

"Ma and I used to have to stuff rags into the cracks around the windows to keep the snow out, and even that didn't protect me from chilblains. I know what it's like to go to bed hungry and wake up even hungrier, not knowing if there'd ever be something more than boiled cabbage to eat. I know what it's like to be sick in bed watching your mother work when she's bone tired and worry that she'll one day collapse and not get up. I know what it's like to survive in a world that won't give you a fighting chance no matter how hard you try. Once you know those things, you never forget them." Steve took a breath against the flood of memories. "I can't make your daughter healthy. What I can do is make sure you're not so worn out from trying to make ends meet that you break your own health. I can ease her fears that you'll collapse and leave her without an anchor. She and her brother need you."

* * *

Back in Sophia's room, Steve kept the conversation going, mostly by asking Sophia an occasional question and then listing to her ramble her way through answers. It often amused him to watch parents listen in horror as their children openly shared details about their family lives that they never envisioned being shared outside the walls of their own home. A father's habit of leaving a bathroom overly smelly, the fact that mom had let some checks bounce when she was sick in bed and had not put her paycheck on direct deposit… it all came out as the kids rambled.

Fortunately for Takira, Sophia was most interested in relaying chatter about her friends at school and the stray cat Takira had firmly denied them permission to adopt.

"Have you given this cat a name?" Steve finally asked when Sophia took a breath and actually ate some of her dinner.

"Mama calls him Scamp. He's black with a white belly and white feet, sort of like a penguin. So, if we adopted him, I think I'd name him Penguin."

"What does Ethan think?"

Sophia shrugged. "He calls him Spot because he has a white spot on top of his head. Penguin is a much better name. It's more sophisticated. I'll show you because I drew a picture of him." She looked around on her bed, then turned to her mom. "Where's skebook?"

"It might be in the drawer here," Takira said, setting her plastic silverware aside to get up and look in the bedside table.

"Skebook?"

Sophia looked at him as if he were the most clueless person on the planet. "It's short for sketch book, which is way too much of a mouthful to say all the time."

"I see." He'd have to remember to share that nugget of wisdom with Natasha.

Sophia opened to the page where she had drawn a decent likeness of a cat sitting on a step. "See? He has a spot on his head."

"He does indeed look like a penguin. Or a panda. You did a good job drawing him."

"His head doesn't look right, but I don't know why."

"May I show you a trick? I'll need to draw on the opposite page to show you, but I won't mess up your picture."

"You draw?"

"All the time. When I was a kid, I was sick all the time. We didn't have television back then, or even many books for me to read. So, I spent my time drawing. Even now, I carry a small sketch book almost everywhere I go."

"Can I see it?"

"Maybe some other time. I left it in my apartment this evening. If I'd known you liked to draw, I would have brought it with me."

"Here," Sophia said, handing over her pencil.

Steve got out his phone and pulled up a photograph of a cat. "It's always a good idea to have a reference picture to get the proportions right. Do you see how this cat's head is pretty much a circle?"

"Uh. Huh. That's what I started with."

"I noticed. Now draw a light line down the middle of his face and then again across the circle from left to right. If you look at the photograph and draw those same lines, where will the nose be?"

"Way below the middle. I had it too high in my drawing."

"Exactly. Here, if you draw a smaller circle in the bottom half of your big circle, you'll see that the nose is in the middle of that smaller circle. And if you split the center lines of that small circle into six parts, going both across and down, you'll have a better idea of where to put the mouth, too. 1" With a few strokes of his pencil, the cat's face appeared. "If you have a hard time seeing it, you can use this app I found called Sketch Grid." He tapped his phone's screen a few times and the cat's face was now covered in a grid with the edges of the face pressed tight against the gridlines. "See? You can count squares and get a sense of how to divide up the space."

"That's so cool!"

"Even better is that you can do the same thing with tracing paper and a ruler. You don't have to have a fancy gadget like this to make a grid. All you need is a picture, and you can find all sorts of pictures in library books. No matter how sick I was, my mother always managed to get me some books from the library to use for reference when I was trying to draw something for the first time. I also cut pictures out of the newspaper and put gridlines on those. With practice, you might not need to draw so many gridlines, but you'll still see them in your head."

"That is so cool! Mama, did you see what Captain America showed me?"

"I did. It's very good advice."

Steve laid the pencil down, heart warmed by memories of his mother helping him see proportions more clearly. "Have you always liked to draw, Sophia?"

Sophia nodded. "Mama designs clothes, but I like to draw animals." Sophia looked up from the page where she was drawing a new cat beneath her first picture, taking care to use the trick Steve had shown her. "Maybe Captain America can find your citizenship papers, Mama. Then you can open your shop like you always dreamed of."

"I'm sure the Captain has better things to do—"

"What do you mean?" Steve said, holding up his hand to gently stop the protest.

"Papa burned all her papers proving she's a citizen. It's why she's stuck working at that sucky hotel."

"Sophia!"

"Sucky isn't a bad word, Mama."

"It's not a nice one, either."

"I've heard worse," Steve assured them. "I'm more interested the part where you're stuck."

"Papa burned all of mama's paperwork the last time they had a fight." Sophia explained. "He beat her really bad that night. That's when we left."

It took tremendous effort to keep the anger he felt from showing on his face. If he hadn't already known about it from Jarvis, he wasn't sure he'd have been able to keep his expression blank. Sophia needed to feel safe above all else. "That must have been very frightening," he said in the calmest tone he could manage. "You both deserve to be respected and loved. People that love you are supposed to take care of you, not hurt you on purpose."

Sofia nodded. "That's what they said at the shelter, too. Mama got a straining, retrain, I mean a stay away order."

"Restraining order?" Steve offered gently.

Sofia nodded. "That's it."

"Do you miss him?"

She shrugged. "No. I never liked him much. My brother Ethan does, I think." Sophia shrugged. "Doesn't matter now. He died in a cab accident two years ago. Problem solved."

"I see." Steve nodded to himself, watching Takira blanch out of the corner of his eye. "Where is Ethan staying?"

"With the neighbors. Mama usually sleeps here and calls him every day. I hope we can go home soon."

"I imagine once you've healed a bit from surgery, you'll do your chemotherapy treatments as an outpatient. That means you'll only have to visit the hospital on treatment days. You'll be home the rest of the time."

"I'd like that."

"It's not going to be easy. Chemotherapy can make you feel really weak and sick. But it means you'll be healthy when it's all over with." He pulled his tiny notebook out and turned to a blank page and looked once more at Takira. "Tell me about these papers you need to get replaced."

With patience, he teased the story out of her. Her own father, a U.S. citizen, had abandoned his family early in her life, not long after Takira and her late mother had moved to the states from Jamaica to be with him. Though legally a U.S. citizen herself, she had no way to prove it without spending money they didn't have to track down documents she was uncertain she'd find. That was going to complicate her efforts to secure employment going forward.

As they talked, Takira's hands were busy with the mending she had set aside when Steve first arrived. It turned out she was supplementing their income by doing basic alterations for a growing client base. She had dreams of designing and selling professional clothing for women who didn't have the physique of modern models.

"Show him your design book, Mama," Sophia prodded as Steve listened to their story.

"I'd love to see your sketches if you're willing to share them," Steve added.

Takira reluctantly retrieved the thin book from beneath the clothing in the basket and handed it over.

"Bring it here and I'll show you my favorites," Sophia demanded, reaching for the volume.

Smiling at the girl's enthusiasm, Steve sat on the edge of the bed and let Sophia flip through the pages, opening it to show a drawing of a flowing dress suitable for Sophia to wear. "Mama said she'd make this one for me once I get home from the hospital. We'll have to hunt for a nice fabric with a similar pattern, but she knows a store that should have something. Look at this business suit she came up with. The sleeves have little cutouts to let the shirt sleeves show. She said it's a way to add color while still conforming to business boring. I think Pepper Potts should get one, but Mama said she has rich people designers to go to. Anyways, after we saw your girlfriend Megan on TV, Mama and I played a game where we each drew a dress for her. The left page is Mama's and the right one is mine."

"Your design is very colorful," Steve said diplomatically as he saw the striped disaster Sophia had drawn. "Megan loves bright colors, but I'm not sure she'd be happy with that many stripes, probably because she doesn't have the same artistic vision you do."

"Stripes are awesome."

"I agree. Most of my uniforms have red and white stripes on them. This one, on the other hand, I think is something Megan would definitely wear." He pointed to the drawing Takira had done. The cut of the short-sleeved dress was modest but bared one shoulder while the frothy skirt that had a slit on the opposite thigh. The background color of the fabric was a jewel-toned seawater, with a pattern that made him think of both Caribbean islands and Native American tribal artworks.

"Maybe someday Mama can sew it for her."

"I think Megan would really appreciate that. Thank you for showing me." Closing the book, he stood up. "It's getting late and you need to get your sleep. It was nice meeting both of you."

"You're leaving? You never asked what's wrong with me."

"That's because there is nothing wrong with you, Sophia. I like you the way you are."

"But I don't have my leg anymore."

"That sounds pretty tough to deal with, but it doesn't mean you're broken. It means you're going to live a long life and be healthy now that the cancer is gone."

"It's not the same."

Steve sat back down, looking her in the eye with deadly seriousness. "No, it's not the same. It's hard, really hard. What you need to remember is that it's not the most important thing about you. When I go to bed tonight, I'm not going to be thinking I met a girl with one leg. I'm going to be thinking about Sophia the artist who likes to draw animals. She's really smart and doing her best to keep up in her schoolwork even though she's missing her brother, her friends, and sleeping in her own bed. I'm going to be thinking about your nice smile and good manners and how kind you've been to me. I'll be telling Megan about this friendly young lady who has a mother who loves her and that I met them both when I visited them the hospital when she was getting better after some scary surgery. I'll be thinking that I can't wait to see what amazing things you do as you grow up.

"Your body doesn't define who you are. People who focus on your leg and don't see _you_ are not worth your time. They'll just hold you back." As he spoke, he put her finger on her chest just like Dr. Erskine had done to him. "This inside, who you are, is what is most important. Promise me you'll remember that."

She nodded solemnly.

As he stood up, Steve looked at Takira, who had tears in her eyes. "Do you have business plan?"

She shook her head and whispered, "Only dreams."

"Start thinking about the details." He handed her his card. "You need anything you call me." Smiling, he gave one to Sophia, too. "If you think your mom should call me and hasn't, you can call me yourself. It will go to voice mail, but I will get the message. I'll do what I can to find out how to get your paperwork in order. Good night, ladies."

* * *

Back in his tower apartment, Steve shared his new findings with Jarvis. "Is it possible for me to become a business partner that supplies money but doesn't really get involved? That way, Takira can run things the way she wants."

"The term is silent partner, and yes, that is certainly possible."

"What do I need to do?"

"I would advise you to arrange for Takira to have a business mentor as well as have a lawyer draw up a partnership that protects both of you."

"In other words, we need to throw money at the problem."

"That is Mr. Stark's typical approach."

"Can we be more creative? Are there any colleges in the city that have students who could help Takira as an independent project they do for credit? She needs business advice and mentoring, as well as extra hands to do the required sewing. The way I see it, we might be able to give some students a unique opportunity to help launch a business while helping Takira out, too. I know Pepper would help, but I don't want to get in the habit of running to her every time I have business-related questions. Do you think you're up to the challenge of doing this with me?"

"I'm almost insulted by that question, Steve. While I admit there are aspects of the business world I still find puzzling, mostly due to the erratic behavior of some people, I also know my limits. I find this to be an intriguing project and have no doubt I can find the right people to contact on your behalf."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"I must insist on obtaining legal counsel for both of you. I have learned from watching both Ms. Potts and Sir that a well-crafted legal document prevents a multitude of problems from developing."

"I'm not going to argue. I know that's how things work these days and I want to make sure Takira is protected. Moving on, how do we get the documents Takira needs to prove her citizenship status? While we're at it, we should get new birth certificates for the kids, too."

"If you let me scan your notes, I'll make some inquiries and see what I can do. I suggest we also help them apply for passports so Takira and the children are free to visit Jamaica in the future."

Steve nodded his agreement. "Is there _anything_ you need me for?"

"You have done enough. You looked into a situation no one else would have considered investigating and found a significant problem we can address. For now, I suggest you retire to bed and enjoy the few remaining hours in the weekend. I have observed that Megan sleeps more soundly when you are beside her."

"That's not very subtle of you, Jarvis."

"I blame Sir's example."


End file.
